


Ghosts in the Machine

by CarthagoDelenda



Category: Code Lyoko
Genre: Alternate Universe - Fusion, Drama, Gen, Multi, Post-Apocalyptic, Suspense
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-12-28
Updated: 2012-06-01
Packaged: 2017-10-28 08:24:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 28,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/305860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CarthagoDelenda/pseuds/CarthagoDelenda
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>On October 8, 2006, a giant teddy bear attack on a junior high school prom left one boy dead, two boys missing, and one girl just barely alive. Cataclysm after cataclysm rendered Boloungne-Billancourt, then Paris, then a wide swath of Europe uninhabitable, overrun with monsters and violent disasters. Months after being driven out of her home, her country, and the life she thought untouchable, Sissi Delmas languishes with her father in a French refugee shelter in Dublin, trying to decide where next to take her life - or whether to take it anywhere at all.</p><p>But soon enough the pieces begin to fall together, from the boy that knows more than he should, to the motionless, voiceless girl that knows less than she could, to the memories that Sissi herself has not yet faced. As the world continues to fall apart, Sissi must use what she has learned to return to what she has tried to forget, face down an unchallenged supervirus, and even discover the true fates of the four souls left behind in the wilderness of France.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prolougue: Kadic Academy, Chapter One: They Won't Find You Here

**Author's Note:**

> This is a story that things happen in, so I hope you like it. :)
> 
> I hope you can figure out this is an AU. Nothing else should surprise you, then. These box things ([]) denote that English is being spoken instead of French. Various chapters will contain scenes and lines from CL episodes for purposes of atmosphere, and while I currently don't know how to denote them, I would like to make clear that any passages you recognize are very not mine and absolutely Moonscoop's. Also, I don't own CL as a whole.

  


  


**Prologue**

  
  


**Kadic Academy**

  


  


  


  
_“Hey, Einstein! Watcha doin’?”_

 _“Mmm. Stuff.”_

 _“Typical Einstein, always so mysterious. What kind of stuff? Homework stuff? Materialization stuff? Dirty stuff?”_

 _“Well, if you have to know, I was working on Aelita’s materialization earlier, but I hit a stumbling block. I’ll take care of it tomorrow, but for now I’m just exploring the code of the supercalculator.”_

 _“Mhm.”_

 _“Right now I’m taking a look at the mechanics of the Return to the Past. I wouldn’t dare change a letter of them, but look at how complex they are…”_

 _“Complex? More like complete gibberish! But you’re a genius, you have to understand this. I wouldn't doubt that you could magic up something even better, like a Return to the Future! That would be awesome. I wouldn’t mind being eighteen for a day.”_

 _“Odd, I can do a lot of things with a keyboard, but I can't do everything. This isn't as easy as flipping a switch back and forth! It would take me years to code anything that huge, considering it was even possible with the Return to the Past to work off of, which is just as well because I don't think we're equipped to deal with the temporal repercussions of such a thing. What I’m really trying to do, right here and right now, is figure out what exactly happens to us when we’re going back in time.”_

 _“But why? Why does it matter? XANA attacks, we stop him, you push a button, we go back, it never happened. We’ve been doing that since last November and nothing’s gone wrong so far.”_

 _“But doesn’t it interest you at all? Scientists always assert backwards time travel is impossible, and yet this computer can do it to an extent! But why do only those who’ve entered Lyoko retain their memories? Why can we only travel back over very short periods? And why does anyone that’s died remain dead?”_

 _“You’re asking me like I have the answers.”_

 _“I’m thinking out loud, Odd. And by the way, you’re wrong in your wording. If we can remember it, it definitely didn’t not happen. Then the question is, what happened to everyone else’s memories? What happened to that whole timeline?”_

 _“Again, Jeremie, why does it matter?”_

 _“…I hate to admit it, but now that I think about it, you’re right. It hasn’t had any effect on us yet, and Aelita’s materialization is more important right now. Besides, this is as far as I can go. Whoever created the supercalculator, they locked this up tight.”_

 _“Who do you think created the supercalculator?”_

 _“I can’t even begin to guess. Someone crazy…but a genius, definitely a genius.”_

 _“Hey, uh, I better get going. I promised Ulrich and Yumi I’d help them decorate for prom, and I figure I better get over there before Sissi decides to help them in her own special way.”_

 _“Help? Is that what she’s calling it now? Hah! Tell them I’m coming later…I just want to take some time to talk to Aelita. I haven’t said anything to her all day.”_

 _“Oh, should I leave you_

 alone,  _then?”_

 _“Shut up! Just say hi to them for me.”_

  


  


_  
_

  


  


**  
**

  


**Chapter One**

  


**They Won’t Find You Here**

  


  


  


It was a beautiful day at Avenshire Academy.

  


  


  


The secondary school was far enough away from even the outskirts of Dublin not to be affected by any of its urban atmosphere. If ever there was a picture of rural, wild Ireland in the mind’s eye, even in the midst of a bitter chill, it could be found in the flat blue sky, only sparingly strewn with thin lines of clouds, and the lush green hills, which shielded the sudden flatness of the school grounds from the fierce November winds. Even the school building, a tall, spired stone work like an overlarge cathedral, would only attract notice in the way it seemed to be a part of the natural landscape, as if it had once been as small as the trees that surrounded it, and had grown right out of the ground into its current state.

  


  


  


The one lonely road that lead out of Avenshire’s valley was not usually very well-traveled, especially not in the middle of a Saturday, but the military caravans didn’t have any reason to keep this pretext. There were forty-five of them at the school gatekeeper’s last count, all idling in single-file, and at the rate they were coming another twenty could arrive by nightfall. They were large, bulbous creatures, like heavily armored buses, crisp except where they were punctured by large dents. There were no windows on them, except in the cab, where a driver in camouflage fatigues could be seen sitting and looking straight ahead, with one hand on the wheel and the other on his FAMAS rifle. If any noise could be heard in the cargo holds, it was drowned out by the sound of forty-five thunderous engines. The noise was not as old as the hills or the school, but had existed for such a time that nature had swallowed it as a part of itself, just as it had the old building.

  


  


  


The caravans drew a winding black line to the parking lot, which, along with a gymnasium and a dormitory, framed the school’s still, grassy quad. There was only one car in the parking lot, a lone caravan parked right in the middle, but the lot was far from empty. Large white canopies, which sheltered rows of cheap folding tables, covered almost all of the other spaces. There were large white signs fixed to every canopy, which each had messages written in French and English. “ **INSCRIPTION** /REGISTRATION,” read the sign to the left of the caravan, and “ **SOINS MÉDICAUX** /MEDICAL AID” read the sign to the right.

  


  


  


A large crowd of people stood under the tents. Most of them were wearing jeans and T-shirts, a select few under large red smocks, and were mumbling nervously among themselves in voices too low to assert themselves over the caravan engines. A few among them were dressed in religious garb. There were two fairly young men, who were dressed in priests’ cloaks, and about twenty middle-aged women in sweaters, long skirts, and religious medals. A much smaller crowd stood right behind the back of the caravan, which was sealed with two black metal doors. Most of this crowd wore scrubs and carried medical equipment, but four of the men, who stood in front of the aid workers, were dressed like the bus drivers, the only difference being the Irish military insignia on their caps. Another man, dressed in black, stood in the middle. He had “UN” emblazoned in white on his jacket, and he was the only one in the parking lot that was smiling.

  


  


  


The four Irish military men had their slender Steyr AUG rifles pointed right at the cabin doors. Some of the medical staff looked a bit unnerved by the weaponry, but they didn’t dare say anything. This was, after all, standard procedure, wsomething they’d already done five times that day.

  


  


  


As the noise of the engine died, the caravan driver opened his door and jumped out of the cab, rifle in hand. He walked silently past all the crowds, including the four men with the guns, and approached the metal doors. He pulled a key off of his belt and, with care and precision, undid one bolt after another. The crowds all looked up at the noise, but waited in silence until the last lock was undone and the man had pulled the doors open.

  


  


  


The man in the UN jacket stepped forward from the rest. As he yelled “ _Bonjour_ !” into the cabin, smiles flew onto the faces of all but the military men.

  


  


  


There were forty people, all civilians, crammed in the cabin of the caravan. Most of them were sitting on benches constructed in two rows, but as there was only so much room on these, several were sitting in the aisle between the two rows, and one woman lay across the front of both the aisles. They were old and young, male and female, rich and poor. There were two tiny babies on a mother’s lap, a wizened old couple, one large family with six children, and a lone man staring at the wall. They were sitting on piles of suitcases, and most of them were wearing multiple coats under multiple blankets, which made them all look like small cocoons. None of them spoke – they were either squinting against the sudden brightness or staring straight ahead, shocked that they could see the light at all.

  


  


  


“Sorry for the light,” the UN man continued in Irish-accented French. “But look at it this way. If you can see the light, the darkness is over. Yes, you’re here! Welcome to Avenshire Academy, just outside of Dublin, Ireland!”

  


  


  


Several sets of eyes went wide in the cabin. A few of them started whispering among themselves. The UN man caught a few snatches of the conversation. “Ireland? How did we get to Ireland?” “They never told us we went on a boat!” “We’re staying in a school?” “Look at the sky! And the grass…the grass is still here!”

  


  


  


“Yes, you’re in Ireland! I wouldn’t lie to you.” No one laughed, so the UN man went on. He motioned toward the crowds by the tents. “These gracious sisters of the Sacred Heart, as well as their faculty and students, have opened their campus to shelter and accommodate you until such a time as more permanent housing can be located.” Three of the sisters nearby waved, even though, with the metal doors open, none of the people in the cabin could see them. “There is more than enough room for you in the building–”

  


  


  


Everyone’s eyes had grown wider and wider as the man’s words had registered in their heads, and now there was a loud shout as many of the people in the cabin stood and cheered. Men kissed their wives, mothers hugged their children, and old men shook their heads and smiled. Those that did not get up sat in motionless, subdued silence, obscured by their blankets and coats.

  


  


  


“Yes, yes…so, the staff will register you and help you get comfortable.” His voice grew more and more grave as he continued to speak. “Good luck, and a good night’s rest to you. You’re safe now. They won’t find you here.”

  


  


  


The UN man stepped away from the doorway, right to a waiting muffin and bottle of water – his job was over until the next caravan was allowed in. A large man in a white T-shirt and a red smock replaced him immediately. Far from the UN man’s clipped tone, he spoke with a heavy Jamaican accent and gestured as he talked. “Alright, everyone get in groups. If you are with someone, families, friends, get out and get to them now. No pushing, I see you pushing, you’ll all get out!”

  


  


  


People did, of course, push anyway in their haste to leave the cramped cabin. When they had all gotten out, they were screened and patted down by the military men, a process that took almost an hour. Once that was over, they lined up by their chosen groups, amounting to about fifteen clumps in all. The Jamaican man stood in front of them then, still yelling. “Everyone good?”

  


  


  


There were some muttered answers. “Alright!” he said in response. “Time to go!” He waved the line forward to the first tent, which was staffed by several men and women. Three of them were the middle-aged, smiling sisters, while the rest were bored-looking teachers. The tent was flanked on either side by Irish military men. The first seven groups were diverted to different staff members, while the rest waited in their line, dropping their bags and chattering excitedly among themselves.

  


  


  


The first group of the seven, the only one in the line that had been silent since the cabin doors opened, was sent to the station furthest down the row. This station was staffed by one of the bored teachers, a ginger-haired man in his twenties who was not wearing a red smock. When he heard footsteps approaching, he looked up from his silver laptop to see two indistinct piles of cloth. He knew that the taller one was male, as he had a grey beard, and could hazard a guess that the shorter, long-haired one was a girl of about Avenshire age. The man was wearing two coats, three hats, and a tightly-wound scarf. He toted two suitcases and a backpack. The girl by his side also had a backpack and a suitcase, and wore one coat, two hats, and a scarf that was tied around her mouth.

  


  


  


The man gulped, and hesitated a moment before starting his conversation. “Uhm…” He moved his finger around the mousepad of his laptop. “ _Be-on-venue ah Avenshire_ ,” he fumbled, looking right at his screen. “ _Comb-o…tappletoo_ ?”

  


  


  


[It’s alright, don’t hurt yourself,] the man said in flawlessly accented English. [I’m Jean-Pierre Delmas, and this is my daughter, Élisabeth.] He put a hand on the shoulder of the girl by his side. She had dropped her suitcase, and was looking down at her arms, which were folded across her chest. She muttered “Sissi” from behind her scarf, but not with any volume or intent to be heard.

  


  


  


[Oh!] The man looked up, visibly relieved. [Cripes, you’re the first people I’ve ‘ad all day that can speak a decent bit of English. ‘Ad this one old lady that kept trying, failed miserably of course…]

  


  


  


“Maybe this would be a better conversation in French,” Jean-Pierre Delmas continued, catching the man off-guard again. [It’s been a long journey, and we would like to get inside.]

  


  


  


[Right, right, right…] The man looked back down at his computer, and tapped away. [Delmas, Delmas…father and daughter…ah, where are you in from?]

  


  


  


[Boulogne-Billancourt.]

  


  


  


The man’s eyes widened. [Billancourt? Bloody hell, that’s the first I’ve heard that today.] He hesitated. [Any documentation survived?]

  


  


  


[I have a French driver’s license, and her birth certificate.] Mr. Delmas fished them out of his wallet as he talked – this was not the first time he had had to produce them.

  


  


  


[Alright…] The man took the documents, typed some information on his computer, and then returned them. [Right then. Your number is 404-7, and hers is 404-8…] He fished some papers out of a nearby printer and gave them to them. [Remember them, because you’ll need them. You’re a family, so you’ve been placed in a classroom on the Language level, Room 404. The sheets have all the instructions you need…] The man started suddenly. [Wait, did you say your name was Delmas?]

  


  


  


Mr. Delmas didn’t answer, but both his and his daughter’s faces darkened. The man did not notice, and went on. [You’re that guy from that-that school! What’s it called, the one on the telly...E-something. With the b-]

  


  


  


Mr. Delmas glared daggers at the man, stopping him mid-sentence. Despite this, he calmly folded his identification paper and placed it in his pocket. [Thank you for your help, sir. My daughter and I will find our own way upstairs.]

  


  


  


Before the red-haired man could say anything else to them, Mr. Delmas grabbed Sissi’s shoulder and escorted her away. They joined the groups moving up the quad path toward the school building, shuffling with the weight of their suitcases.

  


  


  


“The nerve,” Mr. Delmas muttered to himself as he walked. “The next time I see one of those nuns…oh, his name better be on this paper…”

  


  


  


He grunted in exasperation, took a breath to calm himself, and turned to his daughter. She had hardly spoken all day, not since the caravan had entered the queue to enter the school that morning. His eyes and grip softened, weakened by concern.

  


  


  


“It’s a relief to be out of the caravan, isn’t it?” he said, trying to reassure her. “Just a few more steps, a few flights of stairs, and we’ll have a room, and some warm beds to sleep in.”

  


  


  


“ _A room, a bed_ ,” Sissi said back. She was muffled by her scarf, but still had a mocking tone in her voice. “That’s what you say every time. They never have beds. It’s always blankets on the floor.”

  


  


  


It occurred to Mr. Delmas that a blanket  _had_  been what he meant by a bed, but he didn’t want to tell his daughter. “It’s a lot nicer here than it was at the public shelters, Sissi. Maybe they’ll have beds for us. I wouldn’t put it past the nuns.”

  


  


  


Sissi didn’t answer him, or even react to him. She had pulled her scarf away from her face, and was glaring across the quad at the squat dormitory building. There were no students near the caravans, but there were boarders, all about Sissi’s age, leaning out of almost every window and spilling out the front door. They were all lolling in their pajamas, anything from shirts and sweats to boys wearing only underwear. Most of them were gaping, whether at the caravan arrivals or at the line of people filing into their school.

  


  


  


“I wonder what the students are going to do now that we’re here,” Mr. Delmas said, perhaps a bit too loudly. Sissi started and shivered, but didn’t respond. Instead, she wrested her way out of her father’s grip, leaving her bags behind her, and started running toward the dormitory.

  


  


  


“What? What is it?” she yelled across the field to the students. “WHAT IS IT? WHAT ARE YOU STARING AT?”

  


  


  


“SISSI!” Mr. Delmas was too far away to see their reactions, but he wasn’t standing still – he was running up after her, panting from the effort. Before Sissi could say anything else, he grabbed her from behind and pulled her off the grass, back to the path, and toward the school, leaving their luggage behind. They stopped underneath the awning that led into the front hall, as the exhausted Mr. Delmas could not take the squirming, screaming girl any further.

  


  


  


“Sissi,” he said, the harsh disciplinarian slipping into his voice. “Sissi, what was that?”

  


  


  


“Let me go – let me go!” Sissi shoved her elbow into her father’s face, a blow he just narrowly avoided. “Don’t make me stay here! I want to go home! I want to go home!”

  


  


  


Mr. Delmas pressed his own arms against his daughter’s shoulders as hard as he could, immobilizing her against a column. “Elisabeth, calm down!” He put extra emphasis on the hated name. Sissi was shocked into silence – she stopped moving, though she still looked indignant. “I know you’re tired, I’m tired, we’re all tired–”

  


  


  


“They were  _looking_  at me,” Sissi said, with a world of hurt in her voice. “Why do they still have a school? Why did we have to leave, and not them?” She paused, taking in the look of blank horror on her father’s face. “Why, Daddy?”

  


  


  


Mr. Delmas was silent for several seconds, long enough for his face to soften. By the time he spoke, he looked very tired, and quite powerless. “Sissi, I don’t…” He shook his head, and took a different direction. “I know you’re upset, and those children weren’t being the most polite, but you can’t have outbursts at these people just because you’re angry. They’re here to help us. We’re very lucky, you know. They’ll feed us, give us a roof over our heads…”

  


  


  


“I don’t want to be lucky,” Sissi said, shoving one of her father’s hands away. “I want to go home.”

  


  


  


Mr. Delmas’s face became grave. “If you’re talking about Kadic,” he said, almost at a mumble as if she couldn’t hear him, “There’s…there’s nothing we can do. Kadic can’t be our home anymore. But we can find a new home here, or somewhere else safe. We have to move forward, Sissi. It’ll all be for the best.”

  


  


  


Sissi didn’t say anything, but she didn’t struggle, either. Mr. Delmas clapped his hand back on her shoulder, and looked down to her level, trying his hardest to smile. “Come on. Let’s go get the bags.”

  


  


  


Sissi looked to the side, up at the school, as if contemplating her answer. Mr. Delmas didn’t give her the time to have a choice. He took her hand and took her back to where the bags lay, right in front of the dormitory, which looked empty and still, as all the students had been ordered inside.

  


  


  


By the time they got back to the awning, another caravan had been opened, and they could hear the UN man’s voice echoing across the flat campus. “Good luck, and a good night’s rest to you. You’re safe now. They won’t find you here.”


	2. Welcome Home

**Chapter Two  
Welcome Home**

The Delmases entered the two open front doors and walked in silence through the empty main hall, following the signs to the stairs. The old school had at one point been a much older church, and the worship area, which was of the old, pew-less sort, had been left untouched except to add desks, chairs, and other necessary items, as well as doors to the classrooms, stairs, and other areas. The windows, many of which were stained glass, were set high on the stone walls, the pillars curved onto the ground in a Gothic fashion, and there were several altars set into small alcoves. Mr. Delmas marveled aloud at the intricacy of the architecture, but Sissi only took one quick glance around before looking down at the ground.

The white cement stairs were far flatter and plainer, as was the fourth-floor hallway, which was plain white brick with wooden doors set into both sides. The hall itself was empty, but low mutterings could be heard behind the thin doors. It didn't take long for Mr. Delmas and Sissi to reach Room 404. Mr. Delmas dropped his bags, took a deep breath, and knocked on the door.

"It's open!" a rough man's voice called out. Sissi looked uncertainly at her father. Mr. Delmas looked somewhat baffled himself, but opened the door anyway.

The classroom was middling-large, perhaps three-fourths the size of a Kadic classroom, with large windows set into the outside-facing side. It had once been a Spanish classroom, and colorful diagrams and language charts still hung on the walls, though the room was now devoid of tables and chairs. Instead, ten starch-white mattresses covered nearly every inch of the floor. Four of them had pillows, blankets and sheets stacked neatly at the foot, but six of them were already made up – some neat and tucked-in, others a complete mess.

"Well, look at that, two more people!" the same man's voice called out, leading Mr. Delmas and Sissi to take a closer look at the occupied beds. They were gathered in a group together, separate from the unmade ones. A smiling man with a scruffy blond goatee sat at the foot of one mattress, looking right up at their bemused faces. "Room 404, right?"

Mr. Delmas looked at his daughter, then at the smiling man. "Yes, that's what it says on the door."

"Yes, I know that, I last saw it three hours ago," the man continued with just a hint of playful derision. He stood up, and held out his hand. "Ma-"

Before he could continue, he was bowled over by three lavender-haired little girls, not a one of them over the age of ten. With this man out of the way, they ran to the new arrivals, leaving dusty footprints on the fresh mattresses, and ambushed them.

"Hi!" The oldest, who was nine or ten and had hair down to her waist, boldly approached Mr. Delmas. "What's your name? Where are you from? I like your beard. It looks like a big dead plant eating your face."

"Your beds are over there!" the next, who was six or seven and had a boyish haircut, yelled while pointing at the empty mattresses. "They're really soft! I rolled on them myself!"

"No, no, I want her to sleep in my bed!" the youngest, who was about four and struggling past a lisp, whined as she hugged Sissi's kneecaps, which at that point were the only things in Sissi's line of sight. "I like you. I've got a bunny, so you won't get lonely."

"Uh…" Sissi looked from the little girl's round face up at her father, and then back again. She was so used to seeing children at a distance, she didn't know how to react to this one living with her – let alone  _speaking_ with her. "That…that's…"

"Magali! Lucille! Céline! Let them get in the door!" This time the male voice was softer and more fatherly. At the sound of it, the girls disloged themselves from the Delmases with loud goodbyes. They ran back to their mattress cluster, where another man, somewhat older than the other, and a lavender-haired woman were sitting on the edge of two mattresses pressed together. The little girls surrounded them and started chattering excitedly over each other, speaking far too quickly for any of them to be understood.

The rough-voiced man had recovered from his fall. He stood up and walked over to Mr. Delmas. "Isn't it beautiful, their energy?" he said, looking back at the girls. "They haven't stopped moving since we got out of the caravan. Not that this is news to you!" He laughed. Sissi did not, though Mr. Delmas couldn't help but crack a smile. "Matthieu Mermond," the man continued, holding out his hand. "Fantastic to meet you."

"Oh, why, thank you, Mr. Mermond," Mr. Delmas took the offered hand, though his handshake was not very firm.

"Hey, Mr. Mermond is my brother," he said, inclining his head toward the older man. "Call me Matthieu, or Matt if that suits you. That's my brother over there, his wife, Sandrine…" He inclined his head toward the couple, who looked rather busy. "And my nieces," he finished, with pride in his voice.

"Jean-Pierre Delmas," Mr. Delmas picked up. "And this is my daughter, Sissi."

"Yes, I see!" Matthieu clapped a hand on Sissi's shoulder. "A new playmate for the girls!" Sissi froze under his grip, but he just smiled and went on. "We're over here. You can take two of these mattresses and move wherever you want. And after that we'll have room for two more people…it'll get cozy, but anything is better than those caravans!"

"Absolutely," Mr. Delmas said, with just a touch of urgency. "Thank you for your welcome, Matthieu. Now, Sissi and I should get acquainted with our living space…these bags are fairly heavy."

"Of course!" Matthieu said, though he did not make any move to leave. "Like I said, just take any of the mattresses! And if you have any questions, concerns, anything, just ask me."

Mr. Delmas had already taken his daughter over to a set of mattresses close to the Mermond block. They finally set their suitcases and backpacks to rest on the empty space near the mattresses, and immediately got to shedding layers of coats and hats. Both of them were wearing two sweaters; Mr. Delmas only took off one, while Sissi shed both, revealing a grey, shapeless T-shirt underneath.

Sissi sat down on her unmade mattress, still holding her sweater, staring at her suitcase for lack of anything to say. Mr. Delmas rubbed his hand curiously across his hair and beard. "Oh my, it's about time I had a haircut. I probably look just as scruffy as Franz Hopper."

"Who?" Sissi said, turning to face her father.

"Oh, just an old tea-" He saw his daughter's face cloud over, and stopped himself. "Nobody," he finished.

Sissi looked away again. Her hands were tense on her sweater, as though at any moment she might rip it in half. Finally, she threw the sweater at her suitcase with a low whine and flopped down onto the mattress.

"Ah…" Mr. Delmas tried to cover up his surprise. "Good idea, Sissi. Some sleep would do us both some good. But don't you want a blanket?"

"No," Sissi groaned into the mattress.

"Perhaps a pillow?"

"Leave me alone!" Sissi flipped over to avoid having to look at her father and shut her eyes. Try as she might, and tired as she was, she couldn't manage to fall asleep. Face-first in the mattress, she could still hear what was going on around her. Mr. Mermond and his wife were muttering to each other in low voices. Matthieu was humming to himself. Mr. Delmas was rummaging through his suitcase, making a noise like papers shuffling.

"Your daughter is very quiet," she heard Matthieu say after some time. "All that time in the caravans doesn't do children any good at all. It's not something that they should ever have to do."

"Oh, she's not usually…she's very, very tired," Mr. Delmas said. "Once she's rested she'll be far more, er, agreeable."

"Of course, of course! It must be different for everyone. I've gotten more and more energy just from seeing the sun again, and breathing this country air."

"I heard you say something about a haircut," another man's voice piped in – Mr. Mermond had finally joined the conversation. "Martha should be back in a few minutes; she'll give you all the supplies you need for that."

"That sounds reasonable – and it is a delight to meet you, Mr. Mermond." Sissi heard boards creaking as Mr. Delmas walked over to the Mermonds. "And you, Sandrine–" There was a pause. "Who is this 'Martha'? Is she a sister?"

"No. The sisters are in the gym and the other open spaces, I think," Matthieu said. "Martha's a student. Sixth-year prefect. They've got them helping out, bringing food and supplies, reading announcements, the like."

"They've got  _students_  working in here?" Mr. Delmas said with surprise. He went on from there, but Sissi was distracted from the adults' conversation by a sudden hot, sticky breath on her face. She opened one eye to find Magali, Lucille, and Céline kneeling by her side, staring curiously at her. Céline was now holding a dusty, ragged bunny toy.

"Good going! You woke her up!" Magali shoved her sister. "Now she's going to yell at us! Big people don't like it when you bother them."

"But if she's got a dad, then she's still a kid." Lucille leaned in ever closer to Sissi, who shut her eyes against her. "Hey, hey! Why are you asleep? It's still light out."

"Mmm," Sissi said.

"If you sleep all day, then you're going to be up all night." Magali's voice went low, as though she were giving Sissi a grave warning. "Then your dad's going to be  _really_ mad at you."

"Girls, stop bothering her," Sandrine called over. None of the girls paid any attention.

Céline looked down at her bunny, then back up at Sissi. She smiled, then put the bunny on Sissi's head. "You stay there," she said to the bunny, sounding stern. "Be good, or you're gonna go back in the car and they'll take you far, far away, and you'll never, never come back. Not never!"

Magali and Lucille giggled. Sissi's eyes flew open, and she stared at them for a moment, looking confused. She took the bunny off her head and held it in her hands, staring at its button eyes.

"Her name is Maria," Céline said, with an air of importance. "She's my best friend."

"You can't be friends with a dumb rabbit," Lucille said, whacking her sister on the arm.

"She's not  _dumb_!" Céline whacked her sister back. "You're dumb."

"Well, you're dumber than dumb!"

"You're dumberest dumber-dumb!"

They slapped each other without actually doing much damage. Sissi, who wasn't paying much attention to this exchange, held the bunny back out to Céline without looking at her. "Here. You take her. I don't need her."

"But-" Sissi threw the bunny back to Céline before she could finish, and turned away from the girls. Behind her, she could hear Magali say, "Come on, let's go over here. She's no fun."

Sissi tried again to shut her eyes and ears, but only lay still for a minute before she shivered – it was colder than she had thought. Reluctantly, she sat up to reach the blanket at the foot of the mattress. As she did, the door of the classroom opened, and a tall, thin, red-haired girl stepped in. She was holding a pamphlet in one hand, two plastic bags in the other, and a cloth bag over her shoulder. In any other clothing Sissi might have thought she was in her twenties, but the Avenshire uniform, which consisted of a white blouse, a white sweater vest, and a blue knee-length skirt, gave her away as a student. She had a metallic badge pinned to her sweater vest.

Her eyes went right to Sissi and Mr. Delmas – she had been expecting to see them. "Hello!" she said with a heavy Irish accent. "Jean-Pierre Delmas? Elisabeth Delmas?"

[Yes, that would be us,] Mr. Delmas had been sitting at the edge of the Mermond mattresses with that family, who were now all gaping at the gibberish he had just produced. He rose and turned to face the girl. Sissi, realizing that the conversation now shut her out, began covering herself with her blanket. [I'm Jean-Pierre. And you're Martha?]

[Oh, yes!] Martha's face lit up. [Martha Flynn. You don't know how relieved I am that you speak English. We're a bit short on bilinguals.]

[I could tell. That's not the first time today I've gotten that reaction,] Mr. Delmas said. [My daughter is – oh, I thought she was up a second ago. I apologize. It's been a long journey.]

[Of course, we understand.]

[Anyway, I've heard all about you from the Mermonds. I understand you've got scissors on you?]

[Well, yes, somewhere in these bags. But, first things first. These are some timetables…we've tried to put people on shifts for meals and showers, and because you got here so early you've got reasonable timeslots.]

Sissi couldn't understand a word that Martha was saying, but her dull, toneless voice was something like a lullaby – it drifted in her ears, growing fainter and fainter as she drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep. [Breakfast at seven, lunch at noon, supper at twenty-hundred. Showers at six and twenty-one-hundred. On the bulletin board outside you can find postings of other events we might have going so you don't have to sit bored in your rooms all day, and also some house rules. The bags have basic supplies, toiletries, the like, and if you need more you can always come to me for refills. Toilets are at the end of the hall, showers are in Rooms 422 and 424…]

* * *

" _Cuanta vida hay en un deja vu, lo vivido te vuelve y no pareces tú…y me pueden las ganas, de esta noche no escapas…"_

Sissi didn't waste any time waking up. Her eyes flew open the second she could realize that someone was humming nearby. She jerked her head backward, hit it against the wall, and slid back again, wincing.

She noticed several things immediately. She was on the floor, not in her bed, and she was only half-covered by her blanket. After a second's dazed, futile wondering – why was she on a tile floor, and not her dormitory carpet? – she completed the transition to conscious from subconscious and remembered where she was. She moaned loudly and indignantly. A few seconds later, she did it again. A third time, it disintegrated into a wail.

At about that point, she realized that no one was reacting to her. Mightily confused, she sat up, pulling the blanket up over her shoulders. She didn't know how long she had been asleep, but night had fallen over Room 404. The overhead fluorescent lights were out, but by the dim light of the full moon she could see that her father and the Mermonds were gone. Their bags were all there, so she couldn't think they had abandoned her, but she had no idea where they could have gone.

This left her alone in the room with her thoughts – and her thoughts were the last thing she wanted with her. She climbed back onto her mattress, thinking that, if she was reduced to nothing else, she should get as much sleep as she could beat out of herself.

"¿Estás bien?" an unfamiliar woman's voice called from behind her.

Sissi groaned at the sound of another language she couldn't understand. She looked up in the direction of the voice. "What, what do you want?" she snarled.

"¿Estás bien?" the woman said again. She was sitting across the room from Sissi, and wasn't making any moves to join her. She had long, disheveled dark hair and black eyes that glittered in the moonlight. There were no bags by her mattress besides her plastic bag of amenities; the only thing she appeared to own was the frayed brown dress she was wearing. She was pregnant, and the loose garment tightened over her bulging stomach. She had a look that took a bit from being sad, confused, and concerned. Sissi felt rage rising in her chest just from looking at her.

"Wow," she said, just to test her. She did not respond. In exasperation, her thoughts flew right out of her mouth. "Another new person I have to pretend to be polite to. That's how many people, now? Daddy and I, that's two, those other people make eight, and then you? Nine. No, ten," she revised, taking a quick look at the woman's stomach. "Ten people, all in one room? They've already taken away everything else, they may as well take my privacy while they're at it! Are you happy? Are you happy you're in  _my_  room and I just can't kick you out? I bet you are. So," she finished, using all the Spanish she could muster from the five words she knew, "No! No bien, no bien, no bien!"

"Ah." The woman took a moment to study her. She now looked surprised, and still very sad. "Tú estás muy molesta. Yo también, pero todaviá te puedo ayudar." She looked down at her hand, and pointed at herself. "Luisa," she said.

"And what does that mean?" Sissi deadpanned.

"Luisa," she repeated, pointing harder. "Mi nombre es Luisa. N-nname. Name."

"Oh." Clarification was an unexpected and unwanted comfort – Sissi had wanted to stay angry at her. "Uh…" She pointed to herself. "Sissi."

"Sissi," Luisa repeated, pronouncing the i's as long e's. "Bastante."

Sissi was debating whether or not to answer when the classroom door swung open, letting in a shaft of light from the hallway. "Luisa?" Sissi could hear Sandrine say.

"Ah, hola!" Luisa tried to stand, with some difficulty. Magali, Lucille, and Celine came barreling in the door first, nearly knocking Luisa over again, and made a beeline for Sissi. Matthieu, Mr. Mermond, Sandrine, and Mr. Delmas ambled in somewhat more slowly. They were each holding two (or three, in Matthieu's case) plates of something hot and steaming.

The Mermonds set their plates down in the clear middle area in front of the door. Sandrine stood again to help Luisa over to the center. Mr. Delmas waited in the doorway. "Should we keep the lights off?" he said. "If Sissi is still asleep…"

"She's awake!" Lucille yelled, prompting hushes from her parents. She climbed onto Sissi's mattress and whispered, so the adults couldn't hear, "If you're not awake, I'm going to smack you." Sissi felt the mattress sag as Magali and Céline climbed on after their sister.

"Sissi!" Mr. Delmas inclined his head toward the door. Sandrine caught his drift – when he left to put his plates down, she flipped the switch, sending blinding light into everyone's faces. When Sissi could see again, her father was by her side. "It's nice to see you're up; you've been out for hours. It's practically the middle of the night. I brought you some dinner, we – Sissi, what is it?"

Sissi had been staring open-mouthed at her father's face since she had been able to get a good look at him. For the first time since before she could remember, her father was completely clean-shaven. "Your beard! What – it's gone!"

"Oh, yes," Mr. Delmas said, rubbing his chin, which was covered in red cuts. "It was easier than trying to maintain it in this situation."

"Yup, the dead plant is history!" Magali cut in triumphantly. "But it looks like it was chewing on your chin. Oh – coming, Mom!" Sandrine had called the girls away from the Delmases; they bounded off the mattress and joined their family and Luisa in the space in the middle of the room.

"We were going to bring it for you later," Mr. Delmas continued, "But the dining area was full. Come on." He began to stand up.

"It's okay," Sissi said. "I'm not hungry."

Mr. Delmas frowned. "Elisabeth, you haven't eaten anything in over twenty-four hours. If they give you food, you're going to take it. Do you understand me?"

"Can I eat it later?"

"No."

"Can I eat it over here?"

"What's the matter with eating with Luisa and the Mermonds? They're not going to hurt you."

"That's what you think."

"Sissi, I can't keep making excuses for you. You're coming to eat with us."

"What are you going to do if I don't? Put me in two hours' detention?"

Mr. Delmas shook his head – he knew that Sissi was twisting the knife in the wound. "I just might," he retorted.

Sissi snorted. Then, just to make things even worse for her father, she stood up, walked over to the nearest empty dish, and sat down in a huff. A few moments later, Mr. Delmas sat next to her. He looked over, as if to give her some acknowledgement, but gave up and focused on his plate.

Dinner was a sort of beef chili, several pieces of lettuce that accounted for a salad, rice, a roll, and a juice carton. Still, for Sissi, who was hungrier than she'd dared admit, it was the best meal she had ever had. She was finished within ten minutes. Everyone else, who had not slept through lunch, lingered over their food. Magali, Lucille and Céline made multiple faces at their plates, but ate when their parents were watching for fear of their wraths. Luisa, being pregnant, had a larger portion; she ate steadily, but took breaks to smile at everyone at the table to compensate for her lack of conversation. Mr. Delmas was trying to engage the adult Mermonds in light chatter.

"So, Alec, Matthieu, Sandrine," Mr. Delmas began, twisting his spork in his chili, "I never did catch where you were from."

"No, no you didn't," Matthieu said, "But this is as good a time as any. We're from the Bordeaux region, more on the outskirts of the city. My brother was an accountant with this one firm, Sandrine was a schoolteacher, and I was a bartender." He smiled. Mr. Mermond gave his wife an odd look.

"Bordeaux?" Mr. Delmas sounded surprised. "Why are you in the British Isles? Corsica and Sicily would have been closer…"

"We don't know," Mr. Mermond said. "We don't even know how we got to Ireland. We went to the caravans when it was time to go, and they took us here."

"I'm just glad we're on an island," Sandrine said. "Everyone says that the islands are safer, especially now that they've disabled the connections.  _They_ won't get here without a power source–"

"Sandrine, please," her husband interrupted. "The children don't need to think of that." He was talking about Magali, Lucille, and Céline, who were busy making designs in their chili, but he had forgotten Sissi, who could hear everything, and understood what they were talking about.

"Bordeaux was beautiful," Matthieu said in a low, almost mournful tone. "Right on the river…I remember when I was a kid, maybe a little older than Sissi, there were days when Louis and I would go out to the river and swim all morning. Then we'd have some lunch, and swim for the rest of the day, too…"

"Right, swimming," Mr. Mermond said, with too much of a grin. "You swam  _all_ day."

Matthieu twitched. Sandrine shook her head. "The children  _definitely_  don't need to think of that, Alec."

"Think of what?" Mr. Mermond sounded indignant. "I said swimming, and so did he!"

"Ahem," Mr. Delmas said, rerouting the conversation out of the gutter. "I never have been to Bordeaux, but it sounds like it was lovely. We did have our river, but I can't say the Seine was very swimmable. It was all filth and grime and tourist boats…"

"You two are from Paris?" Matthieu said suddenly. "Right in the city?"

"Well, not quite," Mr. Delmas said. A bead of sweat appeared on his face. He talked very quickly, as though his words were rehearsed. "I was a schoolteacher, too…well, not a teacher. Headmaster, actually. I ran a nice, small  _collège_ on the outskirts. It was quiet there. Old buildings, a nice wood on the grounds. Quiet, peaceful, nothing much ever happened…"

"Bull," Sissi muttered. Louder, she interrupted, "We're from Kadic Academy in Boulogne-Billancourt."

Matthieu sputtered his food. Mr. Mermond and Sandrine exchanged looks of shock, then looked back at the Delmases with wide eyes. Even Luisa and the girls had stopped what they were doing and staring at the adults with rapt attention.

"That's…awful," Sandrine finally said. "That's…that's…I'm so sorry."

"That's where I knew you from," Matthieu said in a shocked, hollow deadpan. "I recognized you, and your name…I just wasn't thinking." He opened his mouth, as if to say something else, but thought better of it.

"Someone in London told me that no one from Boulogne-Billancourt survived," Mr. Mermond continued in the same manner.

Mr. Delmas's facial expression had changed rather swiftly. His face was hard and solemn, as though he were staring at a particularly indignant pupil. Sissi's was identical, but it was twitching rather rapidly, as though it wished it could leave its position for any other. After a moment's silence, maintained even by the children, Mr. Delmas put down his plate.

"Sissi and I, and many others, escaped during the attack," he said in an authoritative manner. "We stayed in Rouen until it was no longer safe, and then in London we heard the same thing you did. We've met plenty of people since who claimed they had escaped Boulogne-Billancourt, but no one we're familiar with. And I'd prefer if that's all we said of it."

He trailed off and looked at his daughter. Sissi had also put down her plate; she was staring at it with wide, glassy eyes and twitching. Luisa, after some hesitation, put a hand on her shoulder. Sissi shuddered, but made no attempt to remove it.

"Right, then," Matthieu said, trying to defuse the mood, "Look at the time. If we're all done, then we should - what was that?"

There was a sudden loud, rumbling noise from the outside. A white light swept past the dark window, blinding the room and prompting confused shouts from the rooms next door. Magali, Lucille, and Céline shrieked with delight and jumped up – with the noise to occupy them, they didn't have to spend their time trying to process what they had heard.

Matthieu stood up and climbed over several mattresses to get to the window. "Was that another caravan?"

"If it is, they're out of luck," Mr. Delmas said, not bothering to stand. "They've been turning them away for hours now."

Indeed, not five seconds after Mr. Delmas had spoken, there was a loud shout from the outside. [No room! There's no more room! Turn back, there's no more room!] All of the adults in the room were motionless for several seconds.

Slowly, but surely, they began to clean up. Sandrine gathered the dishes to take back to the dining hall. Matthieu and Mr. Mermond called the girls over to prepare for bed. Luisa and Mr. Delmas stayed with Sissi, who still had not moved since Boulogne-Billancourt had been mentioned. Finally, after several minutes, she took a deep breath and relaxed. Luisa smiled and stood to help Sandrine. Mr. Delmas stayed, and the two of them sat in silence.

"I should get ready for bed," Sissi finally said. She stood up and walked over to her mattress.

"But you already slept all afternoon," Mr. Delmas said in surprise. "Aren't you rested?"

"No," Sissi said curtly. She shook her head at her suitcase. "I'm not changing in here with everyone watching me!"

"There's a supply closet next to your father's bed, dear," Sandrine said just before going out the door. "I think it's unlocked."

Mr. Delmas thanked Sandrine, but Sissi did not pay her any heed. She gathered her pajamas, went into the supply closet, and dressed very slowly, as well as she could in the dark. There was nothing in the supply closet except for an old oval mirror propped up against the wall. Sissi couldn't imagine why it was there, and eventually decided against looking at it. She didn't have her makeup or hair care products with her, and she hated to think what she might see.

When Sissi came out, all of the other adults were dressed for bed. She was silently thankful she had not had to see them change. Mr. Mermond and Matthieu were trying to soothe the girls, who were excitable as always, and Sandrine and Luisa had not yet returned. Her father was dressed and upright in his bed. He looked up at her, smiling a tired smile, but her own hard expression did not change. His face fell. "Goodnight," he said as warmly as he could, and turned to his pillow.

"Mm," Sissi grunted. She couldn't stand to stay awake another minute. She walked around her father, tossed her clothes on top of her suitcase, climbed onto her mattress, and threw her head onto her pillow. It took her a few seconds to register that Céline had wandered to her bedside. She was holding a board book entitled  _The Glass Boy_. "Will you read me this?" Céline said, holding the book up to Sissi's face.

"No," Sissi said quite plainly.

"But Lucille and Magali want you to."

"I'm trying to sleep. Go away." Sissi turned away from Céline and looked toward her sleeping father. In the glimpse she got before she pulled the covers over her head, it occurred to her just how different her father looked to her. He had lost weight, he no longer wore suits, and now he had shaved his beard. No one could have recognized him at a glance as the principal of Kadic Academy. As she drifted to sleep, she wondered, again, how different she might be if she ever took the mirror out of the closet for a look, and if anyone, if anyone from Kadic was still alive, could take her for the principal's daughter.

There was a flutter of noise as Sandrine and Luisa returned and prepared for bed. The girls begged Sandrine to read their story, and so she did, in a listless drone that just kept Sissi anchored awake.  _The first night is always the hardest,_ she thought to herself, and hated the world for making her think it. But eventually there was a twitch of light behind her eyes as someone shut the lights; with everything quiet and dark, she could finally make the long trek away to sleep.

* * *

 **BANG.**

Sissi felt as though she had hardly been out for a minute before the noise woke her. Her head was heavy with sleep, so she kept her eyes closed, but she could distinctly hear voices and footsteps all around her.

"The noise'll wake the girls for sure…ugh, it's midnight!"

"You have spare beds?"

"What, sir?"

"Spare beds?"

"We have one empty bed, but…"

"You two are married?"

"Yes…"

"Share a bed. Give them the other. We don't have any more."

"Buh…?" Sissi opened one eye, and was confused by what she saw. Her father's bed was not only empty, but lit with the bright hallway light. She shook her head once, and sat up, blinking to try and get the sleep out of her eyes. Slowly, she took in the scene that presented itself to her. Matthieu, Mr. Mermond and Mr. Delmas were in the doorway talking to the large Jamaican man from the parking lot, who was now wearing a T-shirt and shorts. Martha was in the room, also in a T-shirt and shorts, making up one bed in the empty space where Room 404 had eaten dinner. Sandrine was by Luisa's bed, trying to convince her not to get up.

"But…no," Mr. Mermond said, sounding confused. "You can't just take my bed!"

"You'll have a bed. You'll share a twin mattress with your wife. It'll be like high school." No one laughed at his joke.

"Martha told us there would be a maximum of ten people in a classroom," Mr. Delmas said. He was evidently too tired to bring out his English.

"Special circumstances. Mother Superior gave them permission."

"To take my bed?" Mr. Mermond would not let the subject go.

The man ignored Mr. Mermond and turned to face whatever was in the hallway. "Okay, we've got a bed made. We're ready for you. Martha will take her in."

"We can take care of her," a man's voice said. "We haven't had this kind of help anywhere else and we don't want to trouble you…"

"Sir, we're here to be troubled," the Jamaican man said. [Martha, go take care of her.]

[Right.] Martha smoothed the blanket on the mattress one last time, straightened up, and ran out the door. There was a silence, during which the adults looked out the door. All three sets of eyes widened, and Matthieu clenched his teeth.

"Alright. Everyone, make room…" The Jamaican man backed away from the doorway, and the adults clamored over their mattresses. Sissi was now wide awake, and, despite herself, curious. She had only retained about half of what had been said, but she still looked intently at the doorway, wondering what was going to come in from the cold.

After several seconds, three more bundles of cloth, fresh off the caravan, shuffled through the door. From what little Sissi could see of their faces, she determined they were a man, a woman, and a little boy about Magali's age. The Jamaican man stepped away from the door and directed them to the beds available to them. The boy started pulling off his coats and hats and throwing them onto the empty mattress. The woman grabbed him and scolded him in low tones, and he, defeated, started piling his effects by the side of the bed.

Mr. Mermond was standing right next to the man. "Hello," he said, sounding groggy. "That's my bed you'll be sleeping on."

If the man was going to react, he did not have time to before Martha pushed a large, rickety wheelchair through the door. The chair was occupied by a figure so heavily clothed that her skin was hardly visible; if not for the man's pronouns she would not have been recognizably female. She was wearing a coat, gloves, two hats, a scarf tied around her mouth, and, rather unusually, a pair of cheap sunglasses. Sissi felt a pang in her chest when he saw her, like a memory quickly forgotten.

"Anything we can do to help?" Mr. Delmas piped in.

"We've got this. Do what you will," the Jamaican man said. He walked over to where Martha stood, and peeked behind the girl's sunglasses. [She's asleep. Good. Unstrap her. We'll get her undressed and move her to the bed.]

Martha undid the straps that were holding the girl's hands, waist, and neck. The large man started to pick her up, and the bundled man ran over to help him. They started disrobing the girl, first taking off her coat, then her gloves, then her hats. A sheet of unkempt, shiny dark hair fell out of the second hat. When this happened, Sissi saw her father look away from the girl to the mother and son, who were also taking off all of their coats and hats. Sissi could now clearly see both of their faces. They were Asian, and the mother looked vaguely familiar. Suspicion pounded in the back of Sissi's head, but she tried to repress it as long as she could.  _No,_ she thought. _There's no way…_

Like Sissi, this girl was also wearing a sweater beneath her coat. When the large man pulled this sweater off, the sunglasses fell with it, hitting the floor with a clatter. The large man looked at her face and swore in English. "She's awake! I'm terribly sorry…"

"It's alright," the girl's father said. "It really doesn't make a difference either way." He sighed, and bent down to pick up her glasses. "Here, let's set her down…I'll get her boots off."

The large man picked her up, carried her over to the unused bed, which had been made up for her, and set her down, supporting her in a sitting position. Martha had started preparing Mr. Mermond's old bed, but Sissi only noticed that out of the corner of her eye. She was looking right at the girl's face, her eyes wide as dinner plates. With all the faces that had changed, from the parents to the brother to even her own father, this face, the most unnatural of them all, had not changed since the last time she had seen it – or, indeed, any time in the last five minutes. Though she was now awake, the girl's body was completely limp, and face was entirely without expression. It was set in a dead, dull look, only moved by her breathing. Her almond eyes, which were half-open and darkest black, were locked right on Sissi.

Sissi's heart gave a sudden wave of palpitations. With a small shriek, she fell back on her pillow, forcing her eyes shut.

* * *

"Sissi!"

Everyone in the room gave a jolt at the noise - even the Mermond girls stirred – but only Mr. Delmas rushed to his daughter's side. Martha stepped away from the bed but stood at a distance; the large man, seeing that Sissi was taken care of, continued his removal of the limp girl's boots. Everyone else stumbled back to their beds. Matthieu went to soothe the girls, who were on the verge of waking.

Mr. Delmas put a hand over Sissi's forehead, shook his own head, and looked up at the new woman and her son, who were all that remained of the crowd. The woman's son was wrapped tightly around her leg, and she, in turn, was carelessly running her fingers through his hair.

"Panic," Mr. Delmas muttered just loud enough for the room to hear. "Don't worry, it doesn't happen often…yes, she's gone back to sleep."

"I should hope it doesn't," the bundled man said, speaking from his position by the larger man and the girl. "Until now I thought this was about the quietest room we've had."

His wife said nothing. She pressed her son close to her side, and mouthed Sissi's name as she watched her father look over her with concern. Finally, when she had assumed that the proper amount of time had passed, she spoke. "Mr. Delmas, is that you? Principal Delmas!"

Mr. Delmas's head jerked up at the sound of this appellation. He stood, but did not move from this position. He looked from the woman to her daughter to her husband and back again. "Mrs…oh, my…"

"Mr. Delmas, this is-!" The woman's face broken out in delighted shock. "You're alive! Someone's alive! Look, Takeo!" The woman stepped away from Mr. Delmas, taking her son with her, and pulled on her husband's shoulder, turning him while pointing at Mr. Delmas. "They told us in London that no one survived…but Mr. Delmas, he's alive!"

"What? Mr. Delmas? The principal?" Takeo was bewildered by his wife's excitement, but his eyes were widening with hers. He dropped the boot he was holding and pushed his glasses up his face. "But – are you sure?"

"Yes, yes, that's his daughter!" She pointed furiously at the sleeping girl on the mattress. "Principal Delmas, we – how did you -"

She stopped, unable to go on. Mr. Delmas looked her right in her frozen eyes and gave her a sad, tired look. "We'll have time in the morning to talk, Mrs. Ishiyama," he said, speaking in much the same tone he might have used for an unruly pupil. "But for now, we've all had long journeys, and we all need the rest."

"But –"

"Good night, Mrs. Ishiyama," Mr. Delmas said. He turned away from her and climbed back onto his mattress. He was asleep the moment he hit the pillow.

Takeo turned to face his wife. There was tension radiating from every inch of his being. "Akiko, this man-"

"Not before he's in bed, Takeo." Akiko spoke in the lightest whisper, so the son whose hair she stroked could not hear her. Still, her words held power over her husband. He nodded without relaxing and turned back to the bed, where he assisted the Jamaican man in dressing his daughter for bed. The man spoke to Takeo in a concerned, unintelligible undertone, to which he responded slightly more loudly: "Nothing, he's just an old acquaintance. There's no problem at all…"

The young boy looked over at this scene, full of concern. He pulled on his mother's coat sleeve. "Mommy, there's only two beds for us," he said. "Do I have to share with Yumi again?"

Akiko looked down at her son. "Yes, Hiroki. I'm sorry."

"I don't want to sleep next to her when she's awake," he continued. "She scares me."

Akiko twitched without changing expression. She bent down to her son's eye level and pulled him close, almost smothering him between their coats. "There's no reason to be afraid of her, Hiroki. She's your sister. There's no reason to be afraid."


	3. Yumi Ishiyama

At one point, there had to be one face, but right now, Sissi could see thousands. Every facet of the crystal ball was the same, curved around an epicenter, each distorted image paying tribute to the center.

Yes, yes, there she was.

Two-time Kadic Academy beauty queen, the star and diva of the school, enshrined in glass for all the night to see. The greatest thing to see in an oval mirror. All hers, forever and always.

Rip, rip, rip beneath her feet. Someone was ripping her apart in anger. "Don't be so gloomy, Ulrich. Is it because of Milly? You could've said yes, dumped me, and gone to the prom."

"Even if I was your date?" In all the chaos, she was the guiding light, the disco ball – she was the inspiration for the dance. If she could reach out and kiss the glass image before her, she could become greater than the sum of its parts.

"Sissi really did come on strong. If she's the last one off the dance floor alive she'll win for sure."

"Yeah, but try to fight your way out. You'll be dead in a week." The lights were out, the image dim. Herb must have been playing with the circuit breakers, that was the only explanation. Herb was the one who deserved to die.

"Hey, Sissi!" She heard the voice for the first time in a hundred years, beating her own image out of her head. "Stop looking at yourself for a second and talk to me."

Sissi obeyed like a robot. She looked down away from the disco ball and found herself on the floor, no ladder in sight. They were all over, infesting the stage. One had cables, another a microphone, the last a roll of tape, and then she had nothing but her words. Could they have had faces? Sissi tried to remember, but only the words continued on their way to her mind.

"Riddle me this and give me the answer," he said, his voice amplified by the instrument in his hands. "I may be the king of the dance floor, but what are you going to do when Ulrich has the microphone?"

Sissi couldn't answer and she didn't want to. There was the beauty, eating away at her hands and her eyes in a crash of broken glass. Then there was the other lost voice: "Sissi. We're going to take a trip to the past. Don't you want to come with us?"

"Sissi," oh, now she was talking, why did she have to talk how could she talk with no face, "Why are we dead, and you still alive? [Come on, eat this for me.] Why did you come off the dance floor without me?"

For the first time Sissi opened her mouth to speak, but her words died as a gasp in the back of her throat; with no mind with which to think, she could tell them nothing. Then she had to go and laugh, and the rest of them had to laugh with her, laughing all the way to the grave. They were vanishing before her eyes; Sissi tried to grab hold of him but he caught her by the wrist, looking her in the eyes before he flickered and died.

The laughter became a roar, and the concrete and plaster fell from the ceiling. Voices appeared behind the plaster, telling her to eat in childish tones. A shadow fell over her face. There was a sound like an explosion, and the four-ghost woman had won.

\---

In the first few minutes after Sissi woke, she lay rigid on the mattress, staring into her pillow. Her dream had condensed itself in her memory – she could remember everything that had happened within it, but found it impossible to pull out any details. The whole event had been kneaded together, like a ball of dough, with each moment indistinguishable from the next. By the time she sat up, fully awake, even that remnant had vanished entirely, leaving only the feeling that it had once existed.

She looked every which way around her to avoid turning her head toward the noise at the center of the room. On her right, the plastic wristwatch atop her father's stack of suitcases read the time as six-fifty-five in the morning. Her father's bed was empty. On her left, the enormous east-facing windows, unfettered by curtains, let sunlight fill the room, despite the early hour. The Mermond girls were still asleep in their beds. Sandrine, Mr. Mermond, and Luisa were also nowhere in sight, but Matthieu remained. He was sitting cross-legged on his own mattress, naked but for a pair of boxer shorts, glaring straight ahead.

Sissi started somewhat at his stern expression. Much like a train wreck, she couldn't help but follow his line of vision to the new family in the center. Martha, who looked far more rested than she had the previous night, and the mother, who looked just as tired, were sitting in plastic folding chairs next to the empty mattresses. Martha was stirring a spoon in a plastic container of white goop, while the woman was holding her hand, twisting the straps that held her into her wheelchair, and dividing glances between her and the other girl in front of her.

[Don't worry, I think I can do this now,] Martha said into thin air as she lifted the large spoon. [Okay…] She hesitated. "What is her name?"

"Yumi, her name's Yumi," the mother said, squeezing her hand with enough force to break it if she had been stronger.

"Yes." [Okay, Yumi, open up…] Far from waiting for her, her mother reached open and opened her mouth for Martha, who inserted the spoon. She allowed her mouth to close, and Martha pulled the spoon out. After a moment, she swallowed on her own, giving a tiny, passionless gulp before lapsing back into motionlessness. She had not been redressed since the previous night, nor had her sunglasses been replaced.

Her eyes. She was staring right up at the ceiling, a stare that hadn't once faltered since the meal had begun. Sissi froze herself to prevent her thoughts from torturing her. Instead, she followed her gaze to her ceiling, then back to her eyes, then back up again. With this to concentrate on, everything else was only in the background, perfectly unimportant.

"So," the woman said with something of an uncertain tone, "Mrs. Mermond tells me that you're a student. Do you still have classes?"

"Ah, I…" Martha paused for a beat, unsure what to do, and then gave the woman a weak smile, a smile that said, "I'm sorry, you're probably a very sweet woman and I'd love to understand you, but we don't have a common language so that can't possibly ever work." The woman, though disappointed, understood every word. She returned the weak smile, with much the same meaning. She continued to look at Martha feeding her daughter in silence, with something of a sad, distant look in her eyes.

"Anything I can do to help?" Matthieu cut in suddenly. He did not sound giving or enthusiastic – in fact, the tone in his voice was curt, even cruel.

"What?" The mother looked up at Matthieu, having only just noticed he was there. "Oh, no, don't bother yourself," she said as kindly as she could. Still, she had heard the tone in his voice, and her eyes betrayed uncertainty.

"Mhm," Matthieu said, shifting on the mattress. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest, as if he were struggling to keep warm, even though one of his shirts lay not a foot away. "Jean-Pierre knew who you were."

Akiko tensed. Martha, sensing danger, turned to smile at Matthieu, in a futile attempt to diffuse the feeling. Akiko had no truck with it. "Oh, yes. We're not…we were just acquaintances."

"You called him 'Principal.'"

"He was the headmaster of a local academy," Akiko said. She paused for a second before continuing, gripping Yumi's shoulder. "Very well-respected in the community."

"He gave off that feeling." His gaze lingered on Yumi, even as his tone became more inviting. "Matthieu Mermond."

"Huh?"

"That's my name. I'm Alec's brother. And you?"

"Akiko Ishiyama," she said. "And this is Yumi." She moved her hand up to stroke Yumi's hair. Yumi did not respond, unless the slightest fluttering of her nostrils when she took a breath could be misinterpreted as a response. "My husband is Takeo, and my son is Hiroki. They're at the showers–"

That word brought Sissi back to reality. "Showers?" she said, with an air of blank horror. "When were the showers?"

Matthieu, Akiko, and Martha all started and turned to face her. Yumi did not move. Akiko, lightened with surprise, was the first to speak. "Why, Sissi! You're awake! I didn't realize you were awake…"

"When were the showers?" Sissi repeated, eyes widening in panic. She leaped up out of her bed, tripped over her own feet, and scrambled back up again, livid.

"Our shower time was six o'clock, Sissi," Matthieu said. His entire face changed as he talked to her – he looked far more amicable. "It's seven now, but you'll get another chance–"

"No one woke me up for a shower!" she roared, silencing them all. Stumbling with panic, she moved over to her suitcase, throwing clothes, towels, and everything else on her mattress in a disorganized frenzy. She was not making any attempt to be quiet – in fact, she was whimpering with every move she made. Over by the wall, there were some indistinct grunts as the girls began to stir.

"Sissi, we didn't know you wanted to take one!" Matthieu said, taking a quick glance at his nieces. "You can go tonight! It's alright!"

"Shut up!" she yelled, waking all three of the girls. She gathered all of the items she had thrown in a heap and ran for the door.

"No, stop!" Martha jumped up, passing Yumi's food to Akiko. [They're not going to let you in!]

"Make me!" Sissi looked back over her shoulder at Martha, and ended up looking right in Yumi's eyes. Hurriedly, she turned back around, threw the door open, and ran out.

Two feet past the doorframe, she bumped into her father, bounced off, and took a few steps back. Looking up, she saw that he was dressed far more professionally than he had been any time in the past few months, as he was wearing a collared shirt and sweater vest, the only articles of what he had worn as a principal that remained with him. With these clothes, and without his beard, he looked curiously imbalanced.

"Sissi!" He looked down at her arms, which were full of her shower things. "You're awake! I'm sorry, our shower time is up in two minutes."

"Oh…!" At the sight of her father, Sissi felt a lie beginning to burn in the back of her throat. It radiated into her nerves, relaxed her face and shoulders, and worked a smile onto her face. "Of course, of course! Silly me, I didn't even look at the clock!" Despite her apparent composure, her heart was still beating at top speed, and she was breathing very heavily. "I'll just wait 'till evening, then! But if you could just move away from the door, I do need to use the bathroom." Her voice dropped to a whisper. "I haven't gone since we got here…"

Mr. Delmas's face was oddly contorted, stuck somewhere between suspicion and understanding. "Oh, yes, of course. In that case, I'll take your things back inside."

"Oh, don't bother!" Sissi went on, backing away down the hallway toward the bathrooms. "I'll just change in the stall! Save time and all! I'll be back before you know I'm gone!" Her grin looked like it was about to crack. "Bye!"

She turned and ran for the bathrooms as fast as her legs could take her. She was quite practiced at lying through her teeth, but she'd been perfectly honest about one thing.

\---

The door was still open behind Mr. Delmas, so when he re-entered Room 404, he shut it behind him and turned to face the rest of the room. There was a flurry of activity inside – everyone was busy further assembling themselves. Martha and Akiko were continuing to feed Yumi, though they did so somewhat faster, now that they knew what they were doing. Matthieu, who was rather pointedly looking the other way, was trying to dress Lucille and Céline, a rather difficult task as the two girls were lying face-first on Magali's mattress, giggling incessantly. Magali herself, defeated and wearing her dress, was sitting on a windowsill nearby. She was perfectly motionless, but her expression could not be read across the room.

"Ah, good morning," Mr. Delmas said to the room. Most everyone started at least a little, not expecting the greeting, but returned it with varying degrees of attention. Matthieu gave an extra smile to compensate for the fact that he was too busy jamming a dress over Lucille's head.

"Mr. Delmas!" Akiko moved to stand up, but found her way and attention cut off by a far faster maelstrom in a white cotton dress and red trainers which ran across the room and got to Mr. Delmas first.

"Hey, Plantface," Lucille said as a matter of greeting, looking up and tugging at his pant leg. "Where's Sissi? We were gonna have a screaming contest."

Mr. Delmas's eyes widened. "A what, my dear?" he said, bending down to her level.

"You know, a screaming contest." Lucille rolled her eyes, as if she could hardly believe that Plantface, even in his adult idiocy, had never heard of a screaming contest. "She was screaming and screaming. I thought she was gonna explode! But I can scream even louder! C'mon, watch me scream!"

She let out a howl so sudden that Mr. Delmas stumbled back. Immediately, there were several loud bangings and muffled angry noises from the walls on either side of the room. Matthieu cringed, jumped up, ran over, and grabbed his niece by the waist. "Luce, what did I tell you about making noise?"

"Don't make noise cause other peoples is sleeping," Lucille recited. "But Sissi–"

"Adults get special privileges. Now go on, go play with your sisters."

Lucille had a grumpy look, as if she wanted to retort, but with one look past her uncle she ran back to the Mermond camp. As soon as she was gone, Akiko stood up and opened her mouth again, but Matthieu beat her to the punch. "Poor Lucille. She'll be a terror at your daughter's age."

"Oh, undoubtedly," Mr. Delmas said. His voice dropped a level. "What was that she was saying about Sissi? Screaming?" He thought for a second, trying to remember what he had seen. "She was fine when I ran into her in the hallway."

"She was throwing fits about missing the showers," Matthieu said. "Of course I knew something wasn't right, and we tried to calm her. But I thought you would know and handle it, and you did. Just like a father should. Speaking of, where is she?"

"Bathroom," Mr. Delmas replied. "I'm sorry that had to happen. Sissi has never been one for moderation in any direction."

"Oh, I can excuse that. Stop me if I'm speaking too much of my mind," Matthieu went on, "But is there anything I or my family could do to make things more bearable for her?"

"Don't worry. I know I'm in a position where I must sacrifice pride for necessity. And as for that…" He bit his lip for a second, trying to determine just how much he wanted to tell Matthieu. "I can never say any one thing for sure. I just try to keep her calm and comfortable, and if one thing doesn't work, I move on to the next. That's really all that matters, now."

"It's the same with us and the girls," Matthieu said, sounding wistful. "It's all about survival."

Mr. Delmas had looked away from Matthieu and toward the Ishiyama camp, where Akiko was standing by her chair, looking nervous. "I'm sorry, but I think Mrs. Ishiyama is trying to get my attention."

Matthieu's eyes narrowed at the Ishiyamas. "Then don't let me stop you. We can talk at breakfast."

"Yes. Thank you for your concern. And–" He took a glance at Matthieu's bare chest. "Haven't you noticed how cold it is in here? You'll be ill."

"I like the cold." Matthieu was trying to keep some of his good cheer, and failing somewhat pathetically. He turned to walk back to his camp. Akiko, now worked up into a frenzy, swiftly walked forward before anyone could stop her.

"Mrs. Ishiyama," Mr. Delmas said as she approached. Though his face remained composed, he couldn't hide the growing anticipation in his voice. He moved several steps away from the door, over to the corner, away from prying ears. Akiko took the hint and moved with him.

"It IS you!" Akiko had a look of excited terror on her face, as though she had been keeping a thousand deadly secrets just barely contained, and only the first of many had begun to slip out. "But I – you – this is impossible!" She gripped his left shirt sleeve. "You, Sissi, the same shelter, the same room…but…" She took a quick glance at his bare chin before continuing. "You're alive! They told us in London…they said the town was, was…"

"It was." Mr. Delmas bowed his head.

Akiko covered her mouth to stifle a shriek. "Oh…oh my god, all those children…"

"No, no," he rushed to say. "Jim and I were able to evacuate the students before the gas was too thick to breathe. I don't know where this rumor's started that no one survived, because we got them all to Paris."

Akiko's shock was slow to fade, but she was regaining her composure. "How many of them were left?"

"Thirty-three. Mostly the overseas students." He paused for a short moment. "We were separated in the caravans, but I'm sure they're alright. There's access to the UN refugee register in all the shelters. Anyone stranded could find their parents, get plane tickets…" His voice got higher and higher as he spoke. "They're alright. They're with their families, I've got Sissi, and you have everyone. That's the most important thing we've got, now."

"Yes, yes, that's right." Akiko turned back to look at her daughter, and Mr. Delmas followed her gaze. Martha was looking right at the two of them with a tense expression, as if, by staring, she might be able to understand all they were saying. Akiko smiled at her, crushing all her hopes, and turned back. "Did you speak to Takeo at all?"

"Oh-" Mr. Delmas took his eyes off Yumi. "He was at the showers, but all he seemed keen to talk about was the soap allowance."

"Even here...I don't believe it." Akiko's voice grew distracted. "All this time, all the places we've been, and he's still on about the soap."

"All the places you've been… why are you all the way in Dublin?" Mr. Delmas sounded grave. "Sissi and I are only here because we lingered in Rouen. If you got out with the crowd, there should have been plenty of room for you in London or that area."

"Room for us, yes…" A loud creaking noise interrupted her sentence. The two of them turned to see Mr. Mermond, Mr. Ishiyama, and Hiroki come through the door. The two men were in shirts and jeans, while Hiroki was in his underwear. Mr. Mermond ran to join his daughters, and Hiroki ran to his bag and began dressing himself. Mr. Ishiyama was far slower on the uptake. He took a look at Martha, then at Yumi, then at Akiko's vacant seat, which he occupied.

"Like I was saying," Akiko continued in an undertone, seeing that Takeo was occupied, "There was room for us. Just…not for her. We've been to every town, every shelter the caravans would take us. No one wants the responsibility."

"That can't be right," Mr. Delmas said, sounding indignant. "The public shelters have more than enough medical support, and they can't turn anyone away."

"They let us in the door, but only because they had to." She now dropped her voice to a whisper. "No one is even trying to hide their fear."

"That's…" Mr. Delmas couldn't finish his sentence. He tried to look over Akiko's shoulder as discreetly as possible. Takeo was muttering something to Martha, which she was answering in short, confused bursts. Yumi was still staring up, ignoring the both of them. "So there's been no change in her condition?" he said.

"We still have the physician's notes." Akiko pulled a folded paper out of her blouse pocket and handed it to Mr. Delmas. It was faded and worn, and the unknown doctor's messy handwriting was assembled in bullet points. -Responds to physical stimuli, touch, pain, reflexes functional. -No response to sound or visual stimuli, no damage to eyes or ears. Two lines were smudged. –Blood pressure normal. –Brain activity…? There were more spots of ink, but the second half of the paper was warped and water-damaged.

When Mr. Delmas had finished, he looked up. "And?"

"And he's been perfectly correct about everything. She eats, she breathes, she sleeps, she reacts to pain…and she sits. And she stares." Akiko made a choking noise, and she began speaking more quickly. "We try to keep her calm and comfortable, and so far, she's still alive. After so long, I find myself wondering if that's the best we can hope for."

Mr. Delmas twitched. He prepared himself to have to comfort her, but she let out a sigh and was composed. He was free to be calmer in his response. "Well, that is what a lot of people think. But if I can say so, everyone has been very well treated here, you and your family included. And if you got everything from Martha, you know about the refugee plans. It can only get better from here."

"If anything, Mr. Delmas, you're an optimist. But it is helpful." Akiko made a face. "Where did your daughter go?"

"The bathroom…a long time ago." Some realization made its way into Mr. Delmas's mind, but he had to stifle it, as Takeo had just approached the pair without announcing himself.

"Takeo!" Akiko smiled at her husband. "I've just been catching up with Mr. Delmas. It's unbelievable that we would be in the same place, isn't it?"

"Perfectly," Takeo said, looking from Mr. Delmas to his wife. "It's the same everywhere, Akiko. All the food in the world here, and they're still rationing the soap. Complete nonsense. The world's gone mad."

"Yes, I was just telling her," Mr. Delmas. "It ruins absolutely everything."

Mr. Ishiyama failed to catch any of the humor in that comment. "Mr. Delmas, that girl over there says you speak English."

[I do.]

"I'm not going to be a brute and take the food away from her, so please tell her that I can feed my daughter myself."

"Why, Takeo?" Akiko sounded confused. "These people are being very gracious. We should welcome their help."

Takeo muttered something in Japanese, which his wife gave a curt reply to. Behind the two, Martha raised an eyebrow. Mr. Delmas, heavily uncertain of his actions, held out his hand. "If it would make things better for you, I'd be more than willing to translate for you and Martha. Come, let's get this settled…"

Across the room from where three of them got up to approach Martha, the Mermond girls, Magali, Lucille, and Céline, were huddled together on the windowsill. The three of them were not in any way hiding their open-mouthed glares at the Ishiyama camp – not at the adults, not at Martha, and especially not at the nonsense girl in the wheelchair who never moved and had to be fed by hand.

"So what's wrong with her?" Magali said, not bothering to keep her voice down.

"I think she's dead." Céline was quieter, but only because she was visibly afraid. She was hugging Maria very close to her heart.

"Nah." Lucille was naturally able to blow out a wall with her voice. "If she was dead her eyes'd be shut."

"Girls, get down from there." Mr. Mermond was over by his own bag with Matthieu, who was finally pulling on a T-shirt. He was doing frantic double-takes between the girls and the others in the room, who had not reacted to his daughters' comments.

"We're not doing anything," Lucille said, giving her father a pained look. "We want to sit. There's no law against sitting."

"Don't try to fool us," Matthieu said, walking toward them. "You're Lucille Mermond. You don't just sit."

"Well, today I do," Lucille said.

"Look, we have a few more minutes before Mommy gets back and we all go get breakfast. Why don't we go exploring?"

"Matthieu, even you know that's not a good idea," Mr. Mermond said, shaking his head at his brother. "There are people everywhere they can fit them. Girls, I'd be happy if you were over here, but if you have to sit up there, please don't say anything."

"When did we say anything?" Magali said, with a derisive, I-can't-believe-you-don't-trust-me tone. "You must've imagined it. We've been as good and quiet as mice." Her sisters chorused their agreement – "Good as mice!"

"Mice aren't good or quiet at all," Mr. Mermond said. "Your uncle had a mouse when he was ten. It squeaked and scratched at all hours, and one night, it tried to eat me."

"It only chewed your sheets."

To their mutual disappointment, the girls did not giggle, as they usually did when they heard this story. Mr. Mermond sighed and dropped his voice. "Girls, please listen. Yumi is very ill. I don't know why, but I'm not going to ask, because it's not polite to ask people those things. And it's not polite to talk about or stare at them, either. So you have to be good, and be nice to them."

"Yes, Daddy," Magali said, understanding but not completely believing. Lucille, who didn't know what "polite" meant, nodded her way through everything he said. Céline, who didn't understand a word, let her attention wander back to Yumi.

All of the adults were talking near her, but that, of course, was uninteresting. She simply couldn't comprehend why she wasn't moving, but still had her eyes open. She couldn't be dead, and she couldn't be sleeping. Maybe she was bored? Or just playing a trick? Too scared by incomprehension to dare herself to look any further, she snapped her gaze away to the next mattress. There was a boy sitting there alone – Hickie, she was sure his name was. He was wearing a T-shirt and long shorts, and was rummaging through is bags. "Hickie looks really lonely," she said.

Magali's eyes lit up at the words. "Yeah! Daddy, Uncle Matt, can we go play with him? Please please please? We don't want him to sit all by himself. That would be really bad and really not polite!"

Mr. Mermond struggled with the notion for a moment. "Eeeeurgh. Matt?"

Matthieu didn't waste any time struggling. "Eeeeurgh."

"Well then. I…don't see a problem. But playing is all you're doing. Don't force him to do anything, and ask the adults first!" He had the thought to tell his daughters not to talk about Yumi, but knew that would only give them ideas. He need not have bothered, as the girls had stopped listening at "problem." They jumped up, hugged their father, and ran over to the other side of the room. The two men moved closer to the edge of their camp and watched the girls like hawks.

The girls completely disregarded the adults and bounded right over to Hiroki's mattress, bouncing it and knocking his bag out of his hands. "Hey!" Magali yelled. "What's your name?"

Hiroki gathered his bag up again before even bothering to look up at them. When he did, he balked slightly, somewhat surprised at the fact that there were three girls on the edge of his mattress. Presented with many options, he chose to be shy, and went back to his bag.

"She asked you what your name is, stupid," Lucille added in a helpful tone. Matthieu slapped his forehead.

"Hiroki!" Hiroki said as fast as he could. "Now go away." As he talked, he pulled a large, bulky Game Boy out of his bag, along with an AC adapter. Without so much as another regard to the Mermond girls, he ran over by Luisa's bed and plugged it into the wall outlet.

"What are you doing?" Céline's voice sounded behind him. He turned out to find that, to his horror, the three girls had followed him.

"Nothing," Hiroki said, to get rid of them.

"It doesn't look much like nothing." Magali went around behind Hiroki and plucked his Game Boy out of his hands. She took a good look at it and gasped. "You have a Game Boy?"

Hiroki shushed her. "Not so loud. My mom told me to leave it behind."

"Oh, okay," Magali said in her quietest voice. From her angle, she could get a good look at Hiroki's face. She looked for a few seconds, then snapped quickly back to the Game Boy. "I always wanted one of these! I asked for it for Christmas, so in a month, I'm going to have one too."

At the mention of Christmas, Céline's face fell. "Are we still going to have Christmas?" she said in a small voice. Both Lucille and Hiroki started at her sacrilegious words.

"What? Of course we are," Magali said, without a stitch of doubt in her voice. "Pére Noël knows everything. He'll know where to find us."

"But there's no chimneys here."

"Pére Noël is magic, Céline, he'll make one." Magali turned her attention back to Hiroki. "So what kind of games do you got?"

Hiroki couldn't decide whether or not to answer for the longest time. "Uh…I have Super Racer 2080 in there right now. I was only going to play for a minute…"

Lucille began tapping her foot against the floor. "So, what's wrong with your si-"

Magali clamped a hand over Lucille's mouth. "That's it? Just that game?"

Hiroki froze up somewhat, and kept looking at Lucille as he talked. "Uh, I have two more. But I can't find them."

"Hey, we can help you!" Magali mustered the courage to look him right in the eyes. "We're really good finders."

"And we can lose stuff, too," Céline added.

Hiroki mulled the prospect over for a moment, uncertain. "Um…okay. Yeah."

The four of them moved over to Hiroki's bag and began scouring every inch of it. As they did so, the adult conversation broke up as Martha left the room, leaving the door slightly open. Akiko watched her leave somewhat forlornly. Mr. Delmas shut the door behind her, his face unreadable. Takeo walked over to Martha's chair, picked up Yumi's food container, now empty, and capped it. "I can wash this later," he said, just so the room could hear him say it.

"Speaking of breakfast," Matthieu said, getting up and looking at his watch, "It's already five after seven. If we don't get down there soon, the lines will be impossible."

"But what about Sandrine and Luisa?" Mr. Mermond helpfully remembered. "They're not back from the showers yet."

"And I'm not leaving Yumi in here alone," Takeo, who had no experience with the meal situation, said with some indignance.

"All of you go ahead," Mr. Delmas said, looking right at the Ishiyamas. "I'm not hungry. Besides, I need to wait for Sissi. I won't let any of them come back to an empty room."

"Sounds well enough on my end," Matthieu said, standing up. "We'll bring back plates for everyone. Girls, come on, we're going to get breakfast." The girls, who had not yet found any of Hiroki's games, hemmed and hawed, but finally left when Akiko called Hiroki over to the door. Takeo did not look the happiest about the situation, but Akiko marched him out the door anyway.

"Let us know if anything happens," Akiko said before the door shut behind all of them. Mr. Delmas was alone now, alone but for Yumi, whose slow, even breathing was the only sound in the whole room. Mr. Delmas looked uncertainly from one end of the room to the other; when his eyes came to rest on Yumi, he couldn't stand to stay still. He walked over to her, stopping just a foot away. He stared into her eyes, and she stared right back.

"I know why my daughter ran away from you," he said to the unmoving face. "And I wish I could say I didn't. But I do. By God, I do." He gripped her armrest, and bowed his head. "I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry."

He shuddered, unable to look up at her, and she continued to stare down at him, unresponsive as ever.


	4. End of Line

Only a few moments after she had entered, Sissi flew out of the bathroom door, clothes still in hand. The hallway was as long as it was plain, with more than thirty classrooms and still more offices and broom closets spread across either side. Still, the shower line, now all occupied by people with seven o’clock shower times in various states of undress, extended most of the way down of the hall. Sissi bypassed the entire line and ran right to Rooms 415 and 416, which appeared to be laboratory rooms. A large, muscular teacher, whose name tag identified her as the school nurse, stood guard before the door.

Sissi skidded to a halt in front of the woman, dropping her clothes and putting her hands on her knees. “Let me in, let me in!” she managed to pant and yell at the same time.

The nurse’s stern facial expression did not change. “End of line,” she said in very broken French.

“No no no no no no no!” she yelled even louder. “My shower time was six o’ clock, and it’s-” She looked at her watch, and then shoved it in her face. “Six fifty-nine! You have to let me in ahead of them!”

Some of the people at the front of the line laughed and jeered at her, while others grumbled and swore. There was such a cacophony that Sissi couldn’t accurately understand any of them, bar the loud, hoarse man who yelled, “Hey, sweetheart, who do you have to kiss to cut the lines?” The nurse, who knew what that meant without understanding it, said, “Number?”

“Six o’ clock! Let me in!”

“She was talking to me, sweetheart,” the man at the front of the line said, letting Sissi know why she could hear him so clearly. “411-7.”

The nurse waved him ahead to Room 422. Sissi paid the man no heed; the nurse was looking away from Room 424 to assist the rest of the line, and while she was thus distracted, she made a flying leap for the door. The line gave a shout, and before Sissi could move another step, the nurse had her in a vicegrip. “End of line!” she thundered.

“No!” Sissi thrashed against the woman, but made no headway, as the nurse’s arms were about as thick as Sissi’s whole body. “What’s the big deal? It’s just a shower!”

“Yeah, what is the big deal, sweetheart?” The man from the front of the line, for some unfathomable reason, leaned back out the door of Room 422. “It’s just a shower.”

Most of the first half of the line laughed behind them – all but the few at the very front of the line. They were not only impatient at the delay, but had joined the nurse in trying their hardest not to gawk at the man, unlike Sissi, who had no designs of politeness and gawked all that she could. The entire right side of the man’s body was splattered with scar tissue. Much of the skin on his right arm, right leg, neck, and face was brown, wrinkled, and blistering. A large splash of the scarring went across his right eye socket; there were only stitches where the eye should have been. His left eye was intact, but clouded; it was clear he could not see very well out of it.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?” The man’s good eye was trained on Sissi, and he did not seem to have noticed the rest of his onlookers. He grinned hungrily. “Haven’t you ever seen a dead man before?”

Sissi looked every which way, but saw nothing she liked in any direction. Her fear strangled all other motivation, and she was all ready to retort with a comment about the man’s scars when the door to Room 424 opened. Sandrine and Luisa stepped out, both soaked through, and looked right at Sissi and the scarred man. Sandrine was wearing a shirt and sweatpants, while Luisa had only a towel around her bloated, shivering frame.

“Sissi!” Sandrine ran over next to the restrained girl, who turned away from her. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing for anyone that does the right thing,” the scarred man jeered. The rest of the line shouted their agreement. “She was cutting in front of us!” “She’s holding things up even now!” “This is a school, isn’t it? Write her up or summat!”

“And is it your duty to heckle her for it?” Sandrine shot right back. Luisa, who only understood that a strange man had been threatening Sissi, turned right round and launched a torrent of rapid Spanish at the scarred man. Clearly not understanding a word, he calmly put his hands up and backed away into Room 422, closing the door behind him.

That taken care of, Sandrine looked up at the nurse, who was about a foot taller than she was. “We’ll take care of her, ma’am.” She took Sissi’s hand to make the point clear. The nurse nodded, and released Sissi. She went back to her station and began typing something into a laptop that lay there. “Next,” she said, in a fairly undisturbed tone.

Sandrine’s grip on Sissi’s hand became iron, and she marched her several feet down the hallway, with some difficulty. Luisa tried as well as she could to catch up with her, jabbering as she waddled through the hall. “¿Qué estaba haciendo ese hombre? ¿Te dijo algo indecente?”

“Let go of me!” Sissi tried to wrench her hand out of Sandrine’s, but couldn’t without dropping her clothes, which she did not want to do.

“Si te amenazó, voy a traer al hombre mas grande de toda la escuela, y…”

“We’re going back to the room,” Sandrine said in her best personal-impersonal tone. “I think your father needs to-”

“NO!” Sissi sat down right in the middle of the hallway, pulling Sandrine down with her. Sandrine stumbled, but was able to kneel down by Sissi without any major injuries. Luisa crouched down next to them, looking both confused and concerned.

“Sissi, what’s wrong?” Sandrine sounded concerned, but her tone had a touch of impatience.

“I’m not ever going back to that room,” Sissi choked. Tears had appeared at the corners of her eyes. “Never, never. I’ll sleep in the hallways. I’ll sleep in the showers, forever if I have to.”

“Sissi, if there’s a problem, we can talk it over with your father, or with Martha.” Sandrine tried to touch Sissi’s face, but as she froze under her touch, she moved her hand away. “Just tell us what’s wrong, so we can help you.”

“I’m not ever going back to that room,” Sissi repeated. “He…I…it’s just…”

“Sissi.” Luisa took Sissi’s shoulder and pulled her toward herself. “Mírate nada más. Estás tan molesta, no puedes ni mentír bien. Ya sé la verdad. El ojo del diablo no te vá a dejar en paz mientras sus victimas sigan contigo.” With one hand on Sissi’s shoulder, Luisa struggled to keep her towel up, but her eyes were full of determination. “El ojo del diablo se llevo la cara de él y el alma de ella, y tienes miedo de que se lleve algo tuyo, también. ¡Qué ridículo! Siempre habrán diablos, pero siempre habrán valientes también. Tú eres valiente, pero si no te concentras en luchar contra el ojo del diablo, me vas a decepcionar.”

Sissi blinked; her words were all a jumble in her head. “Um, yes?”

Luisa nodded, and gave Sissi a mischievous grin. She turned to Sandrine and summed up all that she had said with, “La niña.”

Sandrine’s whole face changed at those words. She opened her mouth to speak, but in the short time Sissi had known Sandrine, she knew that whatever she said would be exactly what she had heard a hundred times. “Um,” she said, “I’m sorry, I think I’m just…I didn’t mean all of that, of course. I think I just need to take a walk. A short walk, alone, and then I’ll come right back to the room. You understand me, right, Luisa? Walk? El walko?”

She made a walking motion with her fingers. Luisa caught on and nodded at Sandrine, who looked more confused than convinced. “I don’t know…”

“My father would let me,” Sissi said. “Go on ahead, go and ask him.”

“Well…if you do think it’ll help you,” Sandrine finally said. “But for God’s sake, be decent.”

“Of course. I’m okay, I’ll be okay.” She calmed her face and put on a smile, looking so convincing that Sandrine actually believed her. She gathered her clothes, gave them both one final smile, and set off back for the bathrooms to change.

Once she was out of earshot, Luisa turned to Sandrine. “Esa mujer está escribiendo un reporte.” She made a typing motion with her free hand.

“I wouldn’t have let her go if she hadn’t,” Sandrine said. “I don’t fix other peoples’ children. Oh, we’d better hurry. They’re all going to breakfast.”

\---

For a second time that day, more than she was ordinarily used to, Sissi was true to her word. She changed into another long, grey T-shirt and jeans in a bathroom stall, stashed her pajamas in a broom closet in order to avoid having to return to her room, and, from there, began to wander. She didn’t want to stay on the fourth floor, so she walked the short distance to the north stairs and opened the doors. The stairwell was full of groups and families all heading downstairs, so she went upstairs, becoming the subject of many odd looks.

The fifth floor looked much the same as the fourth, both in architecture and in setup – families in classrooms and a long shower line in the hallway. This Sissi walked through, keeping her head down. For a split second, Sissi considered getting into the shower line, but decided that if everyone already thought she was insane, she may as well be dirty to go with it. When she reached the other side, she got back into the stairwell. There was no level above the fifth, only custodial access to the roof by way of a stepladder. Sissi was reluctant to use her arms so early in the morning, so she walked down, bypassing the fourth floor without so much as a look.

The third floor, which she bisected as well, was the same as the fourth and fifth. The second also had much the same setup, but with one vital difference – there were no children or families, but only lone adults. More than on any other floor, the people here had injuries visible, whether they were acid splashes like the scarred man – though all less severe than his – or, far more commonly, the small, round pockmarks of laser burns. One man was missing a whole arm. Sissi stared dumb at this scene until a woman asked her if she was lost, whereupon she ran down the stairs to the first floor.

She came out on the opposite side of the building from where she came in, and found herself in a large, spacious hallway full of bulletin boards advertising long-expired school events. There were several posterboard signs taped to the wall in front of her, printed in French and English. One read “GYM, SHOWERS” and pointed left, the other read “FOOD, W.C., LIBRARY, REGISTRY” and pointed right. They were by far the quietest and most still things she could see, as the hallway was full to the brim with children – more children than Sissi had ever seen alone in one place in a long time.

They were of all shapes, sizes, and ages, from stumbling toddlers to teenagers older than her. Most of them were walking to the left, walking to the right, leaning against the walls and talking to each other, or running around at some game or another. Some were sitting on the line of empty mattresses that stretched all the way down the hall to the gym, which was hard to see from that distance. Desperate to walk somewhere, she joined the crowd going to the gym.

She was not sure whether to be relieved or angered that she did not attract any attention in the hall. Most of the kids were as dirty and disheveled as she was; if a boy or girl was perfectly coiffed and assembled, he or she was also wearing the Avenshire uniform. These students, obviously recruited to help, mostly stayed in tight-knit groups, speaking placidly to each other in English as they avoided the French refugees’ eyes. But, scattered here and there in the crowd, the aged, smiling Sacred Heart sisters were actually doing work, whether it was carrying babies, comforting crying children, or telling off half-dressed pairs of teenagers for being on the same mattress.

When Sissi reached the door of the gym, she found it would be impossible to venture inside without stepping on someone’s mattress, as the room was covered wall-to-wall with them. There was much the same scene inside as there was outside, except far quieter, as most of the people inside were still asleep. Still, Sissi was hypnotized by the movement in the room, and watched for a while. Everyone was with someone else; no one ever seemed to be alone. Even the little red-haired girl by the door, who was just barely stirring, had two or three girls beside her, poking and prodding her further awake. Sissi looked at this girl with disinterest for a second, and then did a double take, just in time for her to open one bleary eye and look right at her.

“Do you need something, dear?” an old woman’s voice said suddenly. Sissi whipped around to see one of the sisters smiling next to her.

“Well, no, I, uh…” Sissi looked from the sister back to the girl, who had looked away, and then determinedly back at the sister. “I’m from upstairs. I was just exploring. I’ll leave now-”

“Oh, that’s quite alright. You’re welcome to look around, socialize, anything you want.” She pointed down the hall. “Or, if you’re looking for something to do, we’ve got a movie playing down that way right now, and the end doors are open if you want to go outside. And, of course, the cafeteria is in the north wing if you’re looking to get breakfast at your time.”

“Right, of course! I think I’ll go…something. Okay, thank you!” With a giant grin, Sissi walked swiftly away, taking deep breaths to calm herself. The sister waved after her, but she did not bother to see it. All that mattered to her was getting as far away from the gym as possible.

This branch hallway was far emptier than any of the others, and only one door on it was open, leading to the small classroom where the movie was playing. Out of curiosity, Sissi ducked inside, but found herself disappointed. The movie was the most recent Astérix film, a series of which she had never been much of a fan, and she was by far the oldest person of the five in the room. She tolerated the movie for about three minutes before she raced out to the end double doors, which she presumed led outside to the grounds.

The doors were something of a back exit, having no outside handle, but she was right all the same. Sissi stepped out, blinked her eyes a few times against the sun, and then began walking without aim or destination, all around the school. This day was just as beautiful as the last, though somewhat cloudier, quite cold, and far quieter, now that the caravans were gone. The campus lawns were lush, green, and, as far as Sissi could see, completely empty bar a large, gnarled oak tree, which she passed twice in her rounds.

Finally, her legs too sore to go on, she sat under the oak tree, head between her knees. She began to hear a pounding in her feet, and knew it would do nothing to ease the pounding in her head. She knew, somewhere, that she was being ridiculous. There must have been thousands of little red-haired girls in France alone, and the possibility that one certain little red-haired girl, especially one from Boulogne-Billancourt, could make it all the way to Dublin was horribly, horribly slim. But it didn’t even really matter who it was, because the walk was doing nothing and Dublin was doing nothing and she had done nothing, nothing at all, not even when the demon eye stared her right in the face and everyone around her was begging for mercy…

After a few moments, a loud shout crushed her heavy memories. She looked up to see a gang of boys walking out of the front hall entrance some metres away. They were all about her age, if somewhat older, and all four of them were wearing the Avenshire uniform. They were having some sort of contest under the front awning – they were each trying to jump and grab the top. They were at this for several minutes before one of them, the one jumping, happened to look over at the oak tree. He stopped jumping, gathered his fellows, and said something to them in English. They all replied enthusiastically, and changed their course to head for her. Sissi grumbled and stood up, prepared to flee if she had to – but also to stay if she must.

[Hey,] one of the boys said, leaning on the tree next to her. [Nice weather we’re having, huh?]

Sissi blinked, and shuffled defensively. This boy was somewhat cute – scruffy blond hair, nice teeth – but she knew a leer when she saw one.

[Aw, back off, Keagan, you’re scarin’ her with your ugly face,] a taller, dark-haired boy said. The boy by his side, who could not have been anything but his twin, laughed hoarsely. They had her surrounded on all sides – there was no way she could fight them off if she had to, and no one could hear her scream from outside.

[Well, at least I ain’t got two of ‘em, like you lot.] Keagan leaned in even closer. [Don’t worry, love. We ain’t all like them two.] He laughed with much the same laugh as the twins. It was clear to Sissi that he knew she couldn’t understand him, so she just glared at him.

[Oi, I saw her first. Let me have a turn.] The final boy, a large, meaty creature with far too many freckles, pushed Keagan out of the way. He adopted his leer, and pointed to himself. [Hey, don’t be scared, poodle-skirt. I’m Gilligan, and I’m the nice one.]

[Just sit right back and you’ll hear a tale, a tale of a fateful trip,] one of the twins began singing gleefully. [That started from this tropic port aboard this tiny ship-]

[Shadap!] Gilligan barked at his friend. [So you can’t speak English, is that it, poodle-skirt? Lucky for you, I happen to know some French. Croissant? Fromage? Ooh la la et we surrender?]

The twins laughed uproariously. [Ey, no,] Keagan said. [Maybe she’s one of the Spanish ones.]

[Ah,] Gilligan’s face lit up. [Fiesta, fiesta, ay caramba!]

There was even more laughter from the peanut gallery, but Sissi was not amused. She looked Gilligan right in the eye. She couldn’t find any way out, physically or verbally, so she held up her right hand and made a gesture all five of them could understand.

[Oooooh!] Keagan and the twins were no longer laughing – they looked impressed. Gilligan just grinned even wider. [Well how about that, a connection is made! I like you, poodle-skirt. You’re feisty. Twisted. We need more girls like that around here.] The large boy leaned down to her level and reached for her chin. She slapped him away. [If you’re so good with your hands I’d like to see what you can do with your mouth. Oi, Ken, Bradley. Go to the dorms and get me Union Jack.]

[No need, Gill.] One of the twins, whether Ken or Bradley Sissi could not tell, pointed at the awning. [Union Jack’s right there.]

The twin raced off to the awning. Sissi tried again to walk away from the boys, but they kept following her all the way around the tree, unwilling to let their game escape. Some seconds later, Ken or Bradley returned, leading another boy in Avenshire dress some steps behind. He was of about average height and handsome-faced, with dark blue eyes and messy hair of the same hue. He was looking around, taking in the scene before him, and looking both confused and displeased.

[Union Jack knows French,] Gilligan explained. Sissi half-understood this, and felt bile rising in her throat. Gilligan left her with the twins by the tree and approached the boy. [Ay, Jack,] he said in a very jovial tone. [Good to see you out and about. It’s way too depressing to be in the school anymore, isn’t it?]

[Just get to the point, Harvey,] Union Jack said. He had a different accent than the other boys, and his voice was deep and commandeering.

[Right, the point!] Gilligan pointed over at Sissi. [We found poodle-skirt here outside, and we’ve been trying to make good with her – maybe even invite her to Friday’s thing. Thing is, we don’t know French, and she doesn’t know English. This is where you come in, Union Jack. You need to be our mediator, our saving angel, so as it is.]

Union Jack mouthed [Poodle skirt?] with disbelief. He looked about ready to give a negative reply, but before he could, he caught a good look at Sissi, who looked far more angry than she did scared. His eyebrows flew up, but the rest of his face relaxed. [Go ahead. Just tell me what I need to tell her.]

[Good boy, Jackie.] Gilligan grabbed Union Jack by the arm and dragged him over to Sissi. [Here she is. Ask her name.]

Union Jack turned to Sissi, whose hard face grew harder. “He wants to know your name. What’s really going on?”

“None of your business,” Sissi spat.

“Funny, that was what I was going to say.” Union Jack turned back to Gilligan. [She says it’s none of your business.]

Keagan and the twins snorted. Gilligan tried not to look ruffled. [Well, to hell with names. I’ve got one for poodle-skirt and it works for me. Anyway, tell her I think she’s cute, and I think I’d like to see more of her. Tell her about the dance in the dorms on Friday. Tell her I wouldn’t mind if she came along.]

Union Jack turned to Sissi. “He says he’s a pompous lech who’s so lonely and frustrated he has to resort to harassing people to get them to like him.”

Sissi cocked an eyebrow. “What’s he really saying?”

“There’s a dance we’re putting on in the dorms on Friday. Nothing fancy, just a grind-fest, but everyone of Avenshire age is invited. He wants you to go with him.”

“May as well be what you said. Tell him to go jump in a lake.”

Union Jack turned to Gilligan. [She says forget that, she’ll meet you under this tree at midnight. Wear something nice.]

Gilligan leered, and everyone laughed. [Tell her the same, if she has anything nice left.]

“I told him to meet you out here at midnight. That’s when the sprinklers come on. Or they should, I’m not sure if they turned them off.”

“Better you than me when he finds out,” Sissi replied. Union Jack was unfazed.

[Oh, hey!] Keagan leaned down next to Union Jack. [Ask her ‘bout the creatures. How big were they, really? Did she see someone get blown to bits? What was it like?]

Union Jack’s face contorted. “He says he has a horrible, disfiguring rash in certain unspeakable regions and would very much like to be taken to a hospital.” He paused. “A mental hospital.”

Sissi didn’t want to smile, but she couldn’t help it, which confused the four boys. Ken or Bradley had an odd look on his face. [Hey, wait a second!] he cut in. [That wasn’t anything bout the creatures at all! Something about a hospital or whatever.]

Gilligan’s face grew hard. [Have you been messing with us, Jack? I wouldn’t put it past you.]

[Did I have to?] Union Jack smirked at them. [You were screwed the second I saw you out here. Remember what Sister Grace said about people who skip their shifts? Ten rosaries, a day in the kitchen, and written apologies, if you forgot, and bloody boring if you ask me. If you hurry back, maybe you’ll avoid that and I won’t have to tell them you were harassing one of the refugees.]

Looks of horror came over Keagan, Ken, and Bradley’s faces, and they ditched Gilligan for the school. Gilligan looked from one grin to the other, his own dissolving into rage. [You’re lucky she’s here, Union Jack. I’m not violent in front of a lady. But tonight, you’re dead.] He made a rude gesture similar to Sissi’s, but Union Jack only shrugged. Finally, he too had to run back to the school.

Sissi stared after Gillgan’s retreating back, in shock and awe at what had just happened. Union Jack lay back in the grass next to her, laughing his head off. “Look at him run,” he said. “He wasn’t kidding about killing me, but that’s no big deal at all. At least he’s not bothering you anymore.”

“Laugh all you want, Mr. Hero,” Sissi cut in sardonically, standing up on her own. She wasn’t hurt, but her pride was. “Just so you know, I’m not some damsel in distress that needs saving all the time. I could have taken them on if I wanted to.”

“I’d love to say you’re wrong, but I saw you earlier. Not many people could give Harvey Gilligan the bird and live to tell the tale.” He stood up to be at her level, but she did not react. “By the way, the other three are named Keagan O’Malley and Ken and Bradley Young. Drop their names to any sister you want and you can exact some nice, institutional revenge.”

“I don’t like talking to the sisters,” Sissi said. “You’re their student, you do it.”

“Me, reporting delinquents to the sisters?” Union Jack laughed. “I’d be the biggest hypocrite for miles. No, the sisters are nice enough if you’re on their good side, but I’m not on their good side.”

“I don’t think you’re on anyone’s good side, Union Jack.”

Union Jack’s eyebrows narrowed. “You know, that’s not my name.”

“But it sounds like a name, and they were calling you that.”

“Think more closely. You know, the Union Jack? The British flag? I’m from the UK, so they call me Union Jack.”

“And they aren’t?”

Union Jack groaned. “How many times do I have to tell people this? Ireland isn’t Britain.”

“Yes it is,” Sissi said, counting off countries on her fingers. “England, Scotland, that other one, Ireland…”

“Northern Ireland,” he said. “You could say that to some people down here and get killed, so be careful. And “that other one” is Wales, which is where I’m from, so be extra careful.”

There was an awkward silence. Sissi tried to open her mouth to dissipate it, but Union Jack got there first. “You know, I wasn’t lying about the dance on Friday.”

Sissi’s face grew grim. “Oh?”

“Yeah…” Union Jack’s voice lost its enthusiasm. “They’re going to go around and tell the rooms tomorrow…just a sort of welcome thing, you know…for you guys. I’m supposed to tell people,” he added hastily.

Sissi nodded. “Well, Jack, I appreciate you playing hero for me earlier, but I can’t say I’m in the mood to be flirted with, and especially not for dances. So keep walking, go turn your little charms on someone else, and please don’t come looking for me. Especially not at the dance, because I’m not going.”

Union Jack’s voice became defensive. “What’s your problem with dances?”

“I’ve got a lot of problems,” Sissi hissed. “And dances are every single one of them.”

She turned on her heel and headed for the awning. Union Jack, still miffed, followed after her. “Wait, come back! At least tell me your name!” he called, but it was too late – she had run back inside. With nothing to do for half an hour, he grumbled and returned to his spot by the awning. There, he slowly took a crumpled, scribbled piece of paper out of his pocket, pressed it against the wall, and stared at it with determination.

\---

By the time Sissi returned to Room 404, breakfast had not only been retrieved, but also finished, cleaned up, and nearly forgotten. She narrowly avoided stepping in her own as she walked in, and resisted the temptation to kick it anyway. Martha had returned, and was playing with Hiroki and the Mermond girls, but the Mermond adults were gone. Luisa was catching a nap on her mattress. Takeo was also missing, leaving Akiko to sit by her daughter and brush her hair. Magali, Lucille, and Céline called enthusiastically to her when she came in, but she paid them no heed. She only followed everyone else’s glances to her father, who was sitting on the edge of his mattress, patiently waiting for her to come to him.

“There must have been a long line at the bathroom,” he said with disarming calm.

“Mhm,” Sissi replied, quickly looking away from him. She sat down on her own mattress and turned her face toward the wall. It was cracked slightly, and a poster explaining Spanish emotion words hung next to the crack. She tried to focus on that for as long as she could.

She heard shuffling behind her. “One of the sisters came in looking for you earlier. Sister Grace, her name was. I told her you’d be back by noon, so she’ll be back then to speak to you.”

“About what?”

“About wha-” Mr. Delmas made an odd, strangled noise. “You know very well what I’m talking about. Sissi, come into the hall with me.” He waited for a moment. Sissi did not respond. “Come into the hall with me,” he repeated.

“You can go, I’ll stay here.”

“No-” He turned his daughter to face him. “I thought we went over this, Sissi. Nothing in the world gives you the right to make things more difficult for the people who are sacrificing everything to help us-”

“If she’s coming back to punish me you don’t have to do it for her,” Sissi interrupted with a hard look.

Mr. Delmas made another strangled noise, and then, after some thought, a sigh. “No one needs to tell you that you can’t attack the school nurse.”

“I did not attack her!” Sissi yelled, prompting almost everyone in the room to look at her. Mr. Delmas hushed her and gave an uncertain look to the rest of the room. Sissi continued in a whisper. “She could have crushed me to death– It was just a shower–”

“Yes, it was just a shower. Sissi-” At the sound of his words, Sissi’s eyes went wide. She covered her head with her hands and let out a loud, forceful wail. Mr. Delmas was frozen for several seconds, debating the best course of action. Finally, he grabbed Sissi’s arms and pulled her hands off of her face. Sissi stopped pretending to cry immediately, too shocked to speak. “Sissi, if you won’t listen to anything else I say, please listen to this. No matter how…how things are, we can’t lose our heads. Our sanity, our education, problem solving – they’re the best things we have. Have you perhaps noticed that the Mermonds and Mr. Ishiyama are not in the room?”

Sissi looked up slowly and nodded. Mr. Delmas went on. “The school has caravans going into Dublin, and they’re there now, looking for work. I would be with them, but…” He was interrupted by a loud roar from several floors below. Unable to speak to each other, the room watched in silence as several caravans rumbled off school grounds. “But, I have other responsibilities for today.” His face grew hard. “We’re never going to get any money for ourselves if we don’t move forward, and if I have to stay here and indulge you every time you think you want to act out, then we may as well stay here forever.”

Mr. Delmas looked over at the rest of the room. Both Martha and Akiko were giving him odd looks, but he ignored them. “Your breakfast is over there,” he said with an air of finality. “I’m sorry if it’s cold, but you do need to eat it. Then read a book, or play with the girls. Keep yourself busy. Keep yourself thinking.”

He stood up – for him, the case was closed, but words bounced in Sissi’s head, unable to find any real mooring. Entirely against her will, Sissi found her gaze drifting to where Akiko sat, still brushing Yumi’s hair. Every time the brush went through her shoulder-length hair, her head would jerk back and forth, back and forth, again and again and again. “I’m not going to forget about it,” she finally said. She began in a whisper, but her volume slowly began to rise. “Not about home, not about Boulogne-Billancourt, not about Kadic or the auditorium or Belpois or Della Robbia or Ul-”

“Don’t insult me!” Mr. Delmas barked, silencing her again. His face had turned red in an instant. At this sound, Martha excused herself from the children and made her way to the Delmas camp. “I haven’t forgotten, and I will never, ever forget. But there is a past, and there is a future. We can’t think about both at the same time.” [Everything is fine, Martha. Though, if you could go tell Sister Grace that my daughter has returned, it would be a great favor to both of us.]

Martha nodded to Mr. Delmas and left the room. Mr. Delmas looked from the door over to the Mermond camp. “The children don’t have anyone to play with anymore,” he observed. With that, he left his camp and moved over to the Ishiyama camp, leaving Sissi alone. He stood some feet away from Mrs. Ishiyama, and began speaking to her in low tones.


	5. Avenshire Academy, Part 1

**Chapter Five**

**Avenshire Academy, Part 1**

 

Avenshire Academy had been given over as a shelter for the homeless and destitute very soon after Ireland opened its borders to French refugees. The Society of the Sacred Heart, an old, wealthy organization with origins in France (and a safe Mother House in Italy), had put out an urgent appeal, as well as a share of money and resources, to all Sacred Heart schools and convents that could assist at least one hundred refugees in their time of need. Avenshire housed exactly six hundred and eighty-nine children and adults, bar staff, religious and remaining students, in peace, comfort, and stability, especially as relative to the military-run shelters of inner Dublin.

 

Where there is peace, comfort, and stability, there also follows uniformity, and every day at Avenshire was much the same with only the most unusual moments of memorable deviation. In the morning, Avenshire rose at various early times, taking showers and breakfast at its constrained leisure. At eight the caravans left for town, where adult or even teenaged residents could either look for jobs or attend the ones they already had. This left the young, the old, the infirm, and the babysitters to find their own occupations for the day, occupations which were, though varied, still limited. They could take walks, socialize, use the library, which contained both books and computers, use what they had brought with them, or participate in whatever (usually fairly underwhelming) “fun thing” the staff had arranged for the day. In the evening, the workers would return, meals and showers would again occur, and sleep followed fairly quickly.

 

After a short time most of the refugees could easily agree that Avenshire fit its purpose as a school – it was repetitive, numbing, even boring. But, they could also agree that it was a sanctuary, a heaven after danger and uncertainty of the homes they had left behind. So it stood that on the morning of January 6, or Epiphany to those concerned, Jean-Pierre and Élisabeth Delmas woke at about the same time, stared at the dirty, cracked ceiling that had greeted them every morning for precisely six weeks, and, in an act of respective curiosity and desperation, racked their brains for standout memories. Élisabeth found four, and Jean-Pierre found three, with two overlapping.

 

 

_November 25_

_7:35 PM_

 

_“Look what I’ve got,” Marcelle said, pulling a pink, bejeweled mobile out of her pocket._

 

_Anne was set to merciless giggles. “What are you going to do with it?”_

 

_“Oh, just text a few friends. Jerome, Gaston, Jean, Julien, Marc, Jerome, Gaston, Jean, Julien, Marc…” Marcelle grinned. “Lucinde is going to be very, very sorry she ever spoke to Michel. Lucinde is going to be very, very sorry she ever spoke to Michel. Lucinde is going to be very, very sorry she ever spoke to Michel.”_

 

Sissi looked up from her paperback, frowning. She had been trying for almost a quarter of an hour to humor her novel, but the large amount of noise in the room found her so unfocused that she could not help but read the same sentences over and over.

 

Magali, Lucille, and Céline were playing a variation of hide and seek that involved much screaming and shouting. Every so often Sissi would find herself pinched and prodded and buried in pleas to play, but she never moved from her seat, or even away from her book. Hiroki was sitting across the room, playing Super Racer 2080 with the volume turned up all the way. Luisa was jabbering excitedly with an older woman sitting between her and Martha on her mattress. Martha had brought Luisa to the attention of the Spanish teacher who had held classes in Room 404, and they had bonded instantly. However, as Luisa spoke Spanish, the Spanish teacher spoke Spanish and English, and Martha spoke English, the room had to wait for Mr. Delmas’s return from Dublin in order to understand anything.

 

Akiko and Yumi were the only quiet ones in the room. Akiko was sitting on her chair next to Yumi; not currently having any occupation with her daughter, she was reading a book. Yumi was sitting in her chair, hands hanging at her sides, staring just over Sissi’s shoulder. The gaze was dead and listless, but very much determined, though from where no one could ever know. Sissi cursed her eyes for being the only thing she could lock onto, like a black hole. Her face contorted into a grimace, and she began humming very loudly, if only to fill her ears and brain with nose and make the eyes disappear. But it only intensified the power of her gaze, like the incessant hum of a hospital light…

 

Sissi threw her book to the floor, but attracted no attention for this act as the classroom door slammed open at about the same time. There was a short jumble of voices from outside, too twisted up to pick out one, and when they ended Matthieu stormed into the room, head down and face burning. Luisa’s group and the Mermond girls fell silent at once; Hiroki did look up, but his Game Boy music still played.

 

“Dawdling,” he muttered, perhaps rather louder than he intended. “Me, dawdling! If I ever see that Irish bastard again I’ll…” His muttering trailed off when he saw his nieces looking up at him in much confusion. Immediately, a relieved smile flew on his face, and he bent down to their level. “Girls, come here, come here, please!”

 

The Mermond girls knew better than to stay away from their uncle when he was in so joyous a mood. Magali and Céline rushed to his arms, while Lucille checked his knapsack for presents. As this was happening, the rest of the Dublin party came in the door, looking tired, listless, and in most cases covered in a thin layer of grime. Both Mr. Delmas and Mr. Ishiyama looked very confused at Matthieu’s behavior, but Sandrine and Mr. Mermond only tapped their feet, having seen this performance before.

 

“Who were you talking to?” Magali piped up, sounding derisive.

 

“Oh, just me, Maggie, just me.” Matthieu’s grin was only a step from genuine. “But that’s nothing, girls. Guess what? I’m not going into town anymore. I’m going to stay here, and play with you.” He paused for a second. “At least for a few days, maybe longer…”

 

“Were you fired?” Lucille cut in, still finding no presents.

 

“No,” Matthieu said quickly. “I love you very, very much, girls, but you know who loves you even more? Your mom and dad! So go greet them, go on.” He stood up so fast that not even Lucille could keep her grip and strode quickly over to the farthest mattress, where he sat with his face to the wall, head in his hands. Sandrine and Mr. Mermond scooped up their daughters as fast as they could; so practiced were they at this that only Céline looked back at her uncle in concern, but didn’t have the words to say anything.

 

Mr. Ishiyama stared at this scene for a second, his scowl twitching, but turned away before anyone else could notice. He approached his own camp; as he did so, Hiroki turned off his Game Boy, stopping the music. He began talking to his wife in an unintelligible tone, and moved her brush away from Yumi’s hair. This was all Sissi saw before her own father sat down on his mattress, next to her. “Evening,” he said, sounding calm and casual.

 

Sissi looked over at him, made eye contact for a second, and then bent over to pick up her book. Mr. Delmas’s eyes followed her down, and then back up. “Which one is that?” he said.

 

“ _Cannes Prep,_ ” Sissi said, looking in her book for her page. “Fourth one.”

 

“Fourth already?” Mr. Delmas, who had never known his daughter to pick up a book in her life, was bewildered. “You’re going through those rather quickly.”

 

“Yes, I am,” Sissi lay back on her mattress, nose still in her book. “Because I am not to leave this room unless strictly necessary for five more days.” She had adopted a sardonic tone for those words.

 

“Yes, I know that, and I still think they could have done far worse to you.” He shuffled in his seat. “Did anything happen outside your book?”

 

“Ehhh.”

 

“I see. Matthieu Mermond  _was_  fired,” he went on in an undertone. “Apparently an Irishman wanted a job just as he was walking by.” Sissi did not respond. “I was under the impression that that sort of discrimination was illegal, but from what we could understand of him, it was just the sort of warehouse where he would get in even more trouble if he reported that he’d been working there.” He paused. “I, ah, did get a job today.”

 

Sissi couldn’t decide whether to jump for joy or say something like “What’s the point?”, so she only nodded, and Mr. Delmas went on. “I’m working at a sales department of some sort. They were terribly surprised I could speak English, you know. They’d been getting French applicants in all day, and they wouldn’t even let me near the front desk until I could prove I was fluent-” 

 

“What exactly do you do?” Sissi interrupted.

 

“Oh, well, I answer telephones, do paperwork, that sort of thing.”

 

“You’re a secretary.”

 

“Ah, basically.”

 

Sissi gave him a hard look. “You used to  _have_  a secretary.”

 

“Yes, Sissi, I remember that.” Mr. Delmas lapsed into silence, and rested his head in his hands. Sissi, relieved that she no longer had to talk about immediate concerns, went back to her book. She was so determined to keep her eyes on the page that she did not notice Martha approaching the Delmas camp. She did perk up when she heard her father speaking again, but once she recognized his English, she immediately stopped listening. [Martha, you’ve been standing there very patiently. What is it?]

 

[Yes, Monsieur Delmas,] Martha said in her usual flat tone. [Sra. Yates arrived this afternoon, and Luisa wishes to speak to you.]

 

[Oh!] Mr. Delmas stood right up, buoyed by importance. [Excellent. It will be a delight to finally understand her. Just hold on-] He turned away from Martha. “Sissi, I’m off to speak to Luisa. Do you–”

 

“No.”

 

Mr. Delmas stiffened, but kept his voice civil. “I’ll be back in a few minutes, then.”

 

“They should pay you to translate,” Sissi said in a tone she hoped her father would not hear as he left. He didn’t, and with Martha, he approached the Spanish teacher with a smile. [Are you Sra. Yates?]

 

[Oh, yes, I-] Sra. Yates was interrupted by a shout from Luisa. She attempted to stand up and greet Mr. Delmas, but about halfway up she clutched her stomach and sat back down. Thus crippled, she pointed excitedly at him instead, chattering gaily and grinning from ear to ear.

 

“Sí, Luisa, Martha me dijo que habla ingles. Calmate un minuto…” Sra. Yates put a hand on Luisa’s shoulder, which appeared to calm her. They spoke placidly for several seconds before Sra. Yates turned back to Mr. Delmas. [She says, “Welcome home! It’s wonderful that we can all understand each other now. I hope you found a good job, and your boss is…” oh, what’s the best word for this… “I hope your boss is not an asshole.”]

 

Mr. Delmas’s eyes widened, but he couldn’t help but crack a smile. [Ah, well then. I can assure you that he isn’t…no need to worry about that. Thank you, and it is wonderful to speak to you too, Luisa.]

 

Sra. Yates repeated Mr. Delmas’s words back to Luisa in Spanish. Luisa made a show of resting her chin in her hand, and began talking again, more slowly. Sra. Yates translated her speech after each sentence. [She says, “My full name is Luisa Maria Gabriela Delarosa. I am twenty-two years old, and I was a student of Spanish literature at the University of Barcelona. And now that you know about me, I want to know about you. I want to know about everyone in this room, if I cannot talk to them all the time.”] Mr. Delmas opened his mouth to reply, but Luisa wasn’t done. [“Multiple languages are a burden, I think. So many people are locked away from each other because they can’t speak the same language. In a perfect world, everyone would speak Spanish.”]

 

[She’s more eloquent than I thought,] Mr. Delmas blurted out, looking distinctly surprised. [Ah, don’t tell her that. If they haven’t said, my name is Jean-Pierre Delmas. I’m…rather older than you.] Luisa giggled when Sra. Yates translated this for her. [I was the principal of a secondary school.]

 

[“A professor!”] Luisa looked impressed. [“How appropriate for a school. Was your daughter one of your students?”]

 

[Never personally.] Mr. Delmas’s voice was distinctly flat. [Not then.]

 

[“When my son is born, and I can go back to Spain, I will make sure he has the best teachers. He will know Spanish, English, and French, and everything I have I will give to him.”] She rested her hand on her stomach and smiled.

 

[Exactly, I quite agree.] He turned swiftly to Sra. Yates. [Has she said anything about the child’s father?]

 

[I had not wanted to breach the subject-] Luisa must have understood at least “father,” because she jabbered something very fast and shrugged. The teacher bantered back and forth with her for a time, then turned back to Mr. Delmas. [She says she doesn’t know where he is, would not care either way, and will not say any more of him. She wants to speak to…do you know what a “see-see” is?]

 

[Sissi. That’s my daughter.] He nodded to Luisa, and then turned away to look at his daughter, who was still reading her book. “Sissi, could you come here? Luisa would like to – what is all that noise?”

 

Sissi didn’t hear the shouts until her father pointed them out, but once she knew of them, she was surprised she hadn’t noticed them. Loud, masculine yelling could be heard coming down the hallway, followed by some hushed talk. The rest of Room 404 had already looked up from their own conversations, but Sissi only saw the door for a few seconds before it flew open with a slam. Three unfamiliar boys in Avenshire uniform come bounding in, whooping and hollering and waving their hands.

 

[Woo! Dance party!] The two boys in front bounced around all the space they could, repeating [Dance party!] over and over. Room 404 did not absorb their enthusiasm, but instead stared at them in as much confusion as they had when they had entered. As this continued, the third boy stepped up from the back, holding a torn piece of paper. He took a quick look around the room, spotted Sissi, whispered something to his companions, and turned the party to face her.

 

“Hello and good evening to everyone at Avenshire,” the boy said in a thick Irish accent, reading off his paper in a slow, stilted manner. “Tonight, to welcome our fellow–” [Oy, it’s Martha! Martha, you coming tonight?]

 

[No,] Martha said curtly.

 

[Suit yourself. Go back to watching paint dry or whatever it is you do for fun.] He resumed his message. “Tonight, to welcome our fellow students, we are holding a dance party for everyone between the ages of eleven and nineteen in the Avenshire dorms! It is super cool, wear whatever you want, dance and have fun!”

 

The boy had an enormous grin on his face, but overall the reaction to his message was not wholly enthusiastic. Mr. Ishiyama would not look at the boys, and instead shot a vitriolic glance at his wife. Luisa, who still looked confused, was whispering to Sra. Yates – “¿Qué dicen?” – who joined Martha in looking quite annoyed at the boys’ intrusion. Matthieu looked up for only a second, and then looked back at the wall with a deep sigh. Mr. Mermond, who had, along with his wife, ignored the message on the grounds that it did not concern them, was surprised to find his oldest daughter tugging at his shirt. “Can I go,  
Daddy? Please please please?”

 

“What-” Mr. Mermond looked up at the older boys in horror. The boys had not given Magali any notice. “No, absolutely not. You’re way too young.”

 

“Come on, Daddy,” Magali whined. “I’m  _almost_  eleven.”

 

“It’s November, Mag. You’re not going to be eleven for another eight months. That’s my final word.”

 

Sissi looked up from her book and into the boys’ faces. They were all unfamiliar, but seemed to share the mentality of Gilligan and his friends, that being that they enjoyed harassing her – they were repeating “Party!” over and over, knowing no other French. Her memory was a maelstrom, and her face grew grimmer and grimmer as she struggled to keep them under control. First she saw Gilligan under the tree, laughing and cat-calling her about the dance. Then a dance itself, an imaginative facsimile of what it might have been like, strobe lights and noise and light in the auditorium and microphones and words and noise and words and…

 

[If you’ll excuse me, my daughter’s confined to this floor for five more days,] her father’s voice cut in. He looked just as grim as Sissi did. [So even if she wanted to go to this event, she wouldn’t be going. You may leave us alone now.]

 

All three boys were very surprised that Mr. Delmas could speak English, and the front boy was visibly unnerved. [Alright, okay. This won’t be the last one…] His voice trailed off, and he stood awkwardly for a moment before one of his companions tapped him on the shoulder and whispered something in his ear.

 

[What?] the boy replied. [Oh, I didn’t even see her!] He turned around to face the Ishiyamas, Yumi in particular. “Hey, you? Music? Food? Fun? It’s super cool!”

 

Yumi did not make any indication that she was aware of the boy’s presence, and kept staring forward as she always had. Both Mr. and Mrs. Ishiyama had identical sharp expressions, and even Hiroki’s eyes were wide. The boys kept their positions for several seconds before their smiles and camaraderie faded. The two back boys took a step back, and the front boy blanched. [Hey, uh, is she oka-]

 

The boy couldn’t finish before Mr. Ishiyama jumped in front of him, blocking his view of Yumi. He was panting heavily, and his face was livid. “Leave,” he growled. “Leave right now, and  _stay away from my daughter_.”

 

The boys couldn’t understand a word, but they got the message – they ran out of the room as fast as they could. There was silence for several seconds after their departure. Mr. Takeo sank onto his own mattress, looking exhausted. Like Matthieu, he had his head buried in his hands. “The nerve of them,” he kept repeating. “The nerve, the nerve, the nerve…”

 

“Takeo, they couldn’t have known,” his wife replied. She placed a hand on his shoulder; Takeo did not reject it, but he did not acknowledge it either. Hiroki watched his parents with some trepidation, no longer paying attention to his game.

 

“I, uh…” Mr. Delmas began, before it became clear to him that the Ishiyamas weren’t going to respond to him. Without hesitation, he turned to the next place he might be needed. “Perhaps it’s time to go to dinner, everyone? Sissi?”

 

“Mmm,” Sissi grumbled. She had collapsed onto her mattress, eyes wide open, her book dangling from her hand. She was looking right into her father’s eyes, past his glasses, as if daring him to come and try to comfort her.

 

 

_November 26_

_10:45 AM_

 

Even with the addition of over eight hundred new residents, the shelves of the Avenshire library were just as silent and serene as they had been under the control of four hundred students. While the library was open to everyone in the building, most all of the books were in English. Many French-language works had been donated to the school, but the cardboard boxes where they had sat were now as empty as the library’s one foreign-language shelf, the refugees having taken them back to their rooms to read.

 

By far the most crowded section of the library was the computer lab. There were twenty two-to-three-year-old computers sequestered in a small room at the back of the library, and every single one of them was occupied. A line of at least forty or fifty people stretched out of this room and across the library. Some were alone, and some in pairs, but all of them were impatient.

 

Mr. Delmas set his paper cup of coffee down next to the first free computer he saw. Before he sat down, he noticed the large sign atop his computer that read [NO FOOD OR BEVERAGES AT ANY TIME], with TEN MINUTES ONLY scribbled under it in pen. Without so much as a change in expression, he picked up his cup, walked across the lab to the nearest rubbish bin, and threw it away, coffee and all. By the time he returned, his previous seat had been filled, but another near the end of that row was vacated not five seconds later. He took this seat before anyone else could see it, grabbed the mouse, and clicked a small, red “UN” icon near the middle of the screen.

 

While the program was loading, he pulled a folded pile of paper out of his coat pocket and opened it up. Several names were written on the paper, something like a checklist. The pile was warped and stained with water damage, so, spying a pad of paper next to the computer, he tore off several new sheets and began writing down the names from the old sheet. He had written down about fifty names when a short  _beep_  told him that the program had loaded. A large black window had appeared at the screen, with  **UN REFUGEE DATABASE SEARCH**  written over several white dialog boxes.

 

“Here we go,” Mr. Delmas mumbled. He took a glance at the first name on the list and typed it into the first dialog box.  **NAME: THOMAS JOLIVET**. He waited for the computer to make the search.  **112 results**. He made a narrower search –  **NAME: THOMAS JOLIVET, REGISTRY LOCATION: BOLOUGNE-BILLANCOURT, FRANCE. 3 results.**  From here, Mr. Delmas could make his search manually. Only one Thomas Jolivet was a teenager, and his identifying information all matched. From here, Mr. Delmas looked right down at the area marked  **CURRENT LOCATION**. A small amount of the tension in his chest loosened when he read  **WASHINGTON, D.C., UNITED STATES** , and with a smile, he made a large check next to Thomas Jolivet’s name on his paper.

 

Buoyed by his success, he clicked  **NEW SEARCH**  and began again –  **NAME: ALEXANDRE PEPIN, REGISTRY LOCATION: BOLOUGNE-BILLANCOURT, FRANCE**. As he waited for the computer to make the search, the seat next to him was vacated, then filled not a minute later. Mr. Delmas took a cursory glance at the new arrival, looked away, and then took a double take. “I didn’t know you were coming here as well, Matthieu.”

 

“What?” Matthieu did his own double take. “Oh, Mr. Delmas! I didn’t expect to see you right here.”

 

“Life is certainly full of surprises.” Mr. Delmas looked back at his own screen.  **3 results.**  One teenager.  **CURRENT LOCATION: CARDIFF, WALES.**  He checked off Alexandre’s name, hit  **NEW SEARCH**  and continued typing and waiting as he made polite conversation. “Is your brother’s family outside, then? I’d heard that was your plan.”

 

“It is our plan. I told them I was getting coffee.” Matthieu began typing into his own boxes. “The…Japanese people are with them.”

 

“Their name is Ishiyama.”

 

“Mm.”

 

Matthieu’s face hardened as his first search began. Not willing to make anyone feel uncomfortable in this environment, Mr. Delmas went back to his own. In five minutes he made several searches, all students in safe locations. After clearing the search for  **NAME: EMILIE LEDUC, REGISTRY LOCATION: BOLOUGNE-BILLANCOURT, FRANCE, CURRENT LOCATION: LONDON, ENGLAND,**  he noticed Matthieu taking a side glance at his screen, but looking away just as quickly. Mr. Delmas felt a tinge of awkwardness. “It’s nothing personal,” he said.

 

“Were those your students?” Matthieu segued into this conversation without any hesitation or awkwardness of tone – only a slight tinge of hurt.

 

“Yes, some of them.” Mr. Delmas hit  **NEW SEARCH.**  “As many as I can search in ten minutes…of the names I can remember.” He felt compelled to add, “I used to have a class list, but we lost it in Colwyn Bay.”

 

“Huh.” Matthieu shook his head, and turned back to his screen. After a minute, he began mumbling to himself. “Funny thing about my friends…I never thought it was a problem that I didn’t know half their real names.”

 

“Pardon?”

 

“I said, what’s that name you just typed in?” He did a double take. “You had a student named Magali?”

 

Mr. Delmas looked back at the search he had just begun for  **NAME: MAGALI DEVASSEUR, REGISTRY LOCATION: BOLOUGNE-BILLANCOURT, FRANCE.**  “Oh, yes, there was a girl in Sissi’s class by that name. Not terribly common in that region…”  **1 result. CURRENT LOCATION: UNKNOWN.**  Mr. Delmas’s face blanched, and he hit  **NEW SEARCH**  before Matthieu could see the result. “But she’s safe and sound. Safe and sound.”

 

“Good. Good.” Matthieu’s voice grew darker and darker as he made his way down his own list. Mr. Delmas didn’t want to spy, but he couldn’t help but notice that the list was far shorter than his own, and did not have nearly as many check marks.

 

He looked over to the next name on his list, and shuddered when he saw who it was. Still, he did not skip over her – he never skipped over anyone.  **NAME: PETRONELLE PASTEUR, REGISTRY LOCATION: BOLOUGNE-BILLANCOURT, FRANCE. 1 result. CURRENT LOCATION: ROUEN, FRANCE. DECEASED.**

 

“Someone told me once that ‘Unknown’ means the same as ‘Deceased,’” Matthieu said, again to himself. “Only with “Deceased,” there’s a body left to bury.” Matthieu wasn’t looking at Petronelle’s result, so Mr. Delmas didn’t know why he had decided to say that just then. But his time was ticking, and he had no time to dwell on it. He crossed out Petronelle’s name for the third time and made his next search.

 

 **NAME: TAMIYA DIOP, REGISTRY LOCATION: BOLOUGNE-BILLANCOURT, FRANCE. 1 result. CURRENT LOCATION: BIRMINGHAM, UNITED KINGDOM. NAME: MILLY –**  He looked back at the sheet to find Milly’s last name, and cursed under his breath to find that it had been blotted out. Not willing to waste any time, he moved on to  **NAME: NICOLAS POLIAKOFF,**  but his mind was on the little red-haired girl, little Milly. The closer he got to sixty, the more his memory failed, and he had no idea why he didn’t remember this girl’s last name. It was long, and started with an S, but the computer search was not forgiving to incomplete knowledge. He’d have to ask his daughter…but no…it even hurt him to remember her. As he watched Nicolas’s result come up –  **CURRENT LOCATION: BIRMINGHAM, UNITED KINGDOM –**  he at least hoped that she was safe.

 

He finished the students with  **NAME: HERB PICHION, CURRENT LOCATION: IN TRANSIT.**  Just as he had begun the faculty with  **NAME: NICOLE WEBER, CURRENT LOCATION: LONDON, ENGLAND,**  he heard a loud, harrowing scream from the end of the row. Everyone in the row turned their heads to look. Two nuns were trying to soothe an older woman who was sobbing and grabbing the sides of her computer monitor, shaking off every attempt on their part to comfort or remove her. “Your time is up,” they kept saying. “Other people need the computer…”

 

“NO!” the woman shouted back at them. “No, I’m not leaving! I’m not leaving until that god-damn screen says my sister’s alive!”

 

By that point, almost everyone had turned away in disinterest – they had seen the same scene too many times, all with different and indistinct faces. Jean-Pierre was included in this number. He looked right back at his screen and kept typing.

 

**NAME: JAMES or JIM MORALÉS, REGISTRY LOCATION: BOLOUGNE-BILLANCOURT, FRANCE. 1 result. CURRENT LOCATION: UNKNOWN.**

 

Matthieu was not as composed as everyone else. His whole body was shaking, and he had an indefinite look on his face. Mr. Delmas saw this on a glance up from his screen to read the next name. “Are you alright?”

 

“No,” Matthieu said, with an air of finality. His hand was shaking over the keyboard. “I have to…no, no, never mind.”

 

**NAME: SUZANNE HERTZ, REGISTRY LOCATION: BOLOUGNE-BILLANCOURT, FRANCE. 1 result. CURRENT LOCATION: UNKNOWN.**

 

“Are you sure?” Mr. Delmas went on.

 

“What’s it to you?” Matthieu spoke softly, as if he had only half-decided to say what he did. “Keep looking at your screen.”

 

“I will,” Mr. Delmas said.  **NAME: ODD DELLA ROBBIA. No results.**

 

After some seconds’ shaking, Matthieu made his search:  **NAME: LOUIS DUPONT, CURRENT LOCATION: DUBLIN, IRELAND.**  He sat back in his chair, but did not relax. In a few seconds’ time, the result appeared -  **92 results.**  Matthieu squinted at the screen, swore under his breath, and closed the program without looking at any of the results. Without another word to Mr. Delmas, he got up and walked calmly out of the room.

 

Mr. Delmas sighed, and typed in the last name -  **NAME: JEREMIE BELPOIS. 198 results. NAME: JEREMIE BELPOIS, CURRENT LOCATION: DUBLIN, IRELAND. No results.**  And there he had it. Eighteen students safe, four unknown, Petronelle dead. Eight faculty safe, three unknown. Della Robbia and Belpois, nowhere to be found. Everyone else, waiting or forgotten.

 

With thirty seconds to spare, Mr. Delmas looked back at his old sheet for one last name, but a new curiosity entered his mind. Quickly, he entered  **NAME: FRANZ HOPPER. No results.**  It was just as he had expected. Another name floated to the top of his mind, someone else long-gone and invisible. But, no. France had been packed in bags and boxes and caravans, and every name in the caravans was catalogued. If she was alive, she was there…and he had to know.

 

He typed in the name, but just as he had begun the search, he felt a light tap on his shoulder. He looked up to see the same stern-looking nun, the Sister Grace, that had lectured his daughter. She was holding a ruler and looking very quietly cross. “Time’s up, Mr. Delmas.”

 

“Please, it’s about to finish,” he said automatically.

 

“Other people might need the seat, sweetheart,” Matthieu’s replacement commented offhand.

 

“Please,” he almost whispered. As he did so, his result appeared.  **NAME: ANETE OLIVIA HARP. No results.**

 

“And so it’s finished,” the stern-sounding nun said, tapping him on the shoulder again. “Time to go.”

 

“Yes, I know.” Mr. Delmas closed the program, which informed him that his searches had been destroyed. He picked up his new paper, got up out of his seat, and headed out of the library in search of coffee.

 

 

_December 9_

_1:30 PM_

 

Winter did not waste its time at Avenshire that year, blowing flurries in fits and starts like it might have otherwise. Instead, December’s first snowfall dumped ten inches on the ground inside a morning, and even in the afternoon the blizzard showed no signs of letting up. A snow-covered Martha had come in at about noon to assure Room 404 that its working members would be sheltered in the caravans if they could not get home that night, but, with five other rooms for her to attend to, they had not had any further contact with her.

 

The snow had had something of a muffling effect on the room – it forced everyone to be calm and sedate against their will. Matthieu was leafing through the newspaper, which had only just arrived, and compulsively scratching at his arm. Sissi was at the moment engrossed in a particularly nasty incident in the sixth volume of  _Cannes Prep_  (one which involved the abuse of screwdrivers of both kinds), and was trying her best to ignore everything else around her. Luisa had gone to lunch with the Spanish teachers, and was not expected back for some time. Magali, Lucille, and Céline, rather than running and shouting at their play as they usually did, were gathered around Hiroki’s Game Boy, making noises that were inaudible over the ceaseless din of the tiny machine. Yumi was fast asleep, stretched out on her mattress with a sleep mask and earplugs, which left Akiko free to focus more attention on her son.

 

“For the last time, Hiroki,” she said, standing over his little entourage with her hands on her hips, “You’ve spent all week on that thing! Turn it off and do something else.”

 

The Mermond girls looked up at Akiko in surprise, but didn’t have the bravery to protest a strange adult. Hiroki twitched, but tried to pretend for as long as he could that he could not hear his mother over the game music. Akiko shook her head. “Hiroki! Turn it off and do something else!”

 

There was a loud chime as Hiroki reached the save point – and only then did he look up at his mother. “But Mom,” he whined, “there’s nothing else to do.”

 

“Nothing else – and what are you even doing? All you’re doing is looking at a screen!”

 

“Yeah, and everyone else is looking at books.” This sentence shattered Sissi’s illusory bubble without any hope of repair. She grumbled to herself and held her book higher over her head to detract notice from her presence.

 

“Then talk to them!” Akiko sounded harried, almost desperate. “Go, play, run around! Please, just do  _something_  – something that isn’t so anti-social.”

 

“If you don’t mind my saying, Mrs. Ishiyama, I think the Game Boy has been more social for him than anything else.” Matthieu looked up from his newspaper with a triumphant smile. “Look at the friends he’s made with it!”

 

The Mermond girls giggled, which made Hiroki look even more stressed out. He scowled, made a low whining noise, and held his Game Boy out behind him to the girls without saying a word. He hadn’t turned it off; the music was still blaring. Magali shook her head at it, looking confused, and Céline glanced at the ground, frightened into shyness, but Lucille grabbed the Game Boy without a second thought and began mashing buttons without any thought as to how the game was actually played. The other children immediately crowded around the game, yelling ineffectual advice as Lucille failed over and over and over.

 

“That-” Akiko looked like she wanted to protest, but with someone else’s children involved she did not know how to proceed without being impolite. “Oh, go ahead if you will. But only until the snow stops!” She walked back to her chair by the side of Yumi’s mattress, sat down, took the physician’s notes out of her pocket, and read them over another time.

 

Over the next five minutes, without hardly realizing it, Magali, Lucille, Céline and Hiroki shifted across the room toward the Delmas camp. In those five minutes, Sissi had only moved ahead one page in her novel; Marcelle’s parents hadn’t yet gotten out of their car and Demi wasn’t even done being stabbed. Instead, her mind kept pounding on the Game Boy sound, over and over and over – even now, when her punishment was lifted and  _she_  was asleep, the snow and her senses wouldn’t give her a break. Silence was the best, especially the deserted silence of the Avenshire grounds, and words gave her something to focus on, but noise only wrapped itself around thoughts and made them worse.

 

She began reading aloud to herself in an attempt to block out the sound, but her own words eventually degraded into a long, low whine. Finally, before she could stop herself, she threw down her book and turned to the kids. “Is there anything you can do that doesn’t make an ungodly amount of noise?”

 

“Sorry,” Lucille mumbled, but no one in the group moved or touched the volume control.

 

“No you’re not,” Sissi said, softly so that the adults would not hear. She looked determinedly away from them to her book. “You little brats…”

 

Only Céline perked up her ears at Sissi’s words. Her face grew somber, but as she didn’t know what ‘brat’ meant she didn’t know whether or not to cry. Instead, she did what came naturally – she picked up her bunny and walked over to Sissi, placing it on her lap without a word. Sissi looked down at the ragged doll, confused, then shot a glance over at Céline. “What do you want?”

 

“Her name is Maria,” Céline said in a grave tone.

 

“So I’ve heard,” Sissi said. “I told you, I don’t want your doll. Keep it.”

 

“She wants to be your friend,” Céline went on unabated.

 

“No, she’s a doll,” Sissi shot back. “She’s not alive and she can’t have friends.”

 

“Céline, don’t bother Sissi, she doesn’t like it,” Magali yelled over without taking her eyes off the screen. Matthieu took a look up from his newspaper upon hearing these words, but seeing no blood, he saw no reason to intervene – but also no reason to look away.

 

Céline did not look hurt – only determined. “But she really really wants to be your friend,” she said, slowly and surely to overcome her lisp. “I want to be your friend, too. But right now I’m busy. I need to watch them play penguins. Bop!” Céline smacked her fists together and giggled. “Penguins.”

 

“What- ‘penguins’?” Sissi caught a side glimpse of the game that the children were playing, and a strange, hot feeling rose in her throat. “Oh, come on!”

 

Céline gave a surprised yelp as Sissi shot up from her mattress and stomped over to the rest of the party. She knelt down by Lucille and grabbed the Game Boy right out of her hands, an event Lucille was too surprised by to fight against. Sissi took one look at the screen and snorted. “The penguin and the head move at the same speed,” she mumbled just loud enough for Lucille to hear. “So you launch the head at full power when the penguin is closest to the launcher and they’ll always land in the same spot every – time!” Sissi pressed down the A button and then released it. There was a jubilant series of beeps. “There, you see? MASTER GAME.”

 

Hiroki rolled his eyes, as if Sissi’s explanation had been the most obvious thing in the world, but the Mermond girls, knowing nothing about video games, were dumbstruck for several seconds. “Do it again,” Lucille finally said.

 

“No, you play it!” Sissi barked with far more power than was probably necessary, shoving the console back into Lucille’s hands. “Why does everyone have so much trouble with a simple game? You, my father…”

 

“Plantface plays Penguin Recapitator: Epic Mission?” Magali yelled – but it was too late. Sissi  stomped back to her mattress, but she did not lay down. Instead she sat on the edge, head buried in her hands. Hiroki and the Mermond girls sat against the opposite wall, dumbstruck. Lucille looked down at her console, lip trembling. She held it out to Magali. “I don’t want to play anymore.”

 

“But I don’t want to play either,” Magali said, looking morose.

 

“Take the stupid thing!” Lucille tossed the machine to Magali and sat in a huff, imitating Sissi.

 

“Fine, I will!” Magali held the console for a second, and then held it out in Hiroki’s direction. “Here, Hiroki.”

 

Hiroki gave her a bewildered stare. “My mom won’t let me play it.”

 

“But it’s yours. I’m giving it back.”

 

“I don’t want it. It’s dumb.”

 

“But…” Magali looked over at Sissi, who had not moved. Her eyes narrowed. She got up from her place and walked over to Sissi’s, with Céline following right behind and Lucille and Hiroki watching at a safe distance. “Uh, Sissi, are you okay?”

 

Sissi did not move, which made Magali somewhat unnerved. “Sissi?”

 

Sissi twitched, ever so slightly. Then she giggled, then snorted, then finally broke out into an enormous laugh that made everyone in the room jump. This crazed laughter continued for almost a minute, to the point where Céline had stopped being frightened and had started to giggle along.

 

“S-sorry,” Sissi muttered. She pointed at Hiroki and began speaking at a breakneck pace. “Hey, uh, you. Do you have any other games? Any games at all? Anything but the penguins, I hate the penguins. Any games. Please, any.”

 

“Uh…” Hiroki looked at the strange older girl with some trepidation. “I have Star Racer 2080…and, uh…Pokémon. Red. Why?”

 

“I don’t know, I don’t even know. The racing one. Get me the racing one. Please, quickly!”

 

Hiroki’s eyes widened, and he scampered back to his bag out of fear. Magali, too, looked quite frightened, but Céline was still smiling at the laughter, and Lucille was positively beaming. “Can we watch you play? Please please please?”

 

Sissi bit her lip as hard as she could. “Yes. No.”

 

“Oh…okay, whatever. You know, you’re really weird,” Lucille said out of the blue. “But you’re not weird weird, like Hiroki.” Magali blushed bright red, but Lucille didn’t notice. “You’re cool weird, like me.”

 

Sissi looked up at Lucille. Her short purple hair, cut with a few blond strands, struck an odd chord in her mind – first pain, and then, unexpectedly, mirth. “You remind me of someone I used to know,” she said, more to herself than anyone else. “He had hair like yours. Well, no. No one had hair quite like he did. But he was like you. He wouldn’t shut up, and he always tried to make people smile.” She laughed a little. “But not me. I never smiled. Not once, not once…”

 

Lucille blinked. “Uh, you’re being weird again.”

 

“Sucks for me, then,” Sissi said. “So where’s this game? If I don’t play it, I just might die. Please. I might die.”

 

At that moment, Hiroki came and handed her the Star Racer 2080 cartridge. She jammed it in the slot, and before long, she was jamming at the buttons, cheerfully ignoring the four children making even more noise than before. The adults in this room watched this scene with some wonder – Akiko’s eyebrows flew into her hair, Matthieu beamed, and even Yumi, who had just woken up, gave a well-timed blink.


End file.
